Monster
by SilverSatori
Summary: 1987. Freddy Fazbear's is a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike... With a dark history. Behind everything is a figure we only know by the name Purple Guy. How can you save those you care about when you can't even save yourself?
1. Prologue

I'm totally into Five Nights at Freddy's right now, not a clue how that happened, but this story came to my mind. It started out as a one shot (see "Janus" on my profile), but I wanted to make a full story. On deviantart you can also find some of my artwork - search for "Cedidit". (Can't include links - sorry.)

I'll cover the 1987 timeline, the missing children and the Bite of '87. This is just a little prelude.

This not a Purple Guy x Phone guy fanfic (though my storylines tend to do whatever they want without asking for my permission... I haven't planned it, but lookwhat happened last time I said something like that.)

It's named after the song "Monster" by Imagine Dragons; check it out!

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

"There's nothing to worry about."

Vincent shot his friend a doubtful glance, but didn't say anything.

The summer sun was burning down on them, but Vincent didn't notice. To any outsider, he would appear perfectly calm, but inside, he was cringing for every passing second. The heat didn't make it better either. He hated it so much.

"How did you get this job in the first place?"

Scott rubbed his already sunburned neck. He was small for a man, a foot smaller than his best friend, barely more than five feet six. The wide uniform shirt with the restaurant's logo couldn't conceal his somewhat chubby shape. A round face with big green-brown eyes looked over the empty street, with neatly trimmed traces of beard on his chin in the same rusty brown color as his short hair. He looked no older than a high school student at best, despite being already past his college years.

"You know, my Dad isn't all for helping me anymore and that... he's friends with the manager of this place. Uh.. well, not actually _friends,_ more like the manager owed him a favor."

"And now you're the security manager? How did that happen? You started like three weeks ago."

Scott smiled nervously. Almost all his smiles looked like that, unless he was really hooked on something. Maybe that was part of the aura of adolescence that surrounded him.

"I'm not... I'm just sort of doing his job. Low budget and all that. It's nothing worth overtime, actually. Come on, let's go before the boss wonders why we're standing here. Stop being so nervous. He'll love you." There was not just a bit of jealousy in Scott's voice.

Vincent shrugged and opened the glass door. Over their heads a robot bear with a hat and a bow tie presented himself to the visitors.

The temperature dropped what felt like twenty degrees in a split second and they were greeted by noise. The windows were frosted over with foil and relatively soundproof at that, but in here, it was impossible to ignore. Voices, faint traces of song, laughter, a baby crying. The walls were gray, colorful triangles sprinkled into the mass. On the height of an adult's waist, a green and blue two-row chessboard pattern ran along the wall, framed by a red line over and under it. The paper-mach image of pizza slices competed with colorful posters of the restaurant's mascots.

"It looks like this everywhere," Scott said. His tone left open if that was an apology or not. Everything was bright, and colorful, and pumped up to ridicule.

There was a short corridor on the right. Dimly, there was the outline of a door at the end, with the sign "Employees only". In the right corner were two walls forming a sort of separate room inside this room. They could see small children running around something on the floor, laughing wildly. Something round flew through the air like a tiny cannon ball.

Vincent caught it in an automatic motion before it hit his face.

It was an eyeball.

He needed several moments to understand it was plastic and glass. One golden eye, the shining outside scratched and full of tiny, dirty fingerprints.

"That's mine," a high-pitched voice said. Vincent looked down at an approximately five year old girl with blond pigtails. From her attitude she could have been the boss of the whole company.

"Huh?", Vincent asked, still wondering about the eyeball.  
"Are you stupid? That's mine. Give it back."

There was a significant pause before Vincent answered. "You shouldn't throw it around then," he said. God, he _hated_ it when kids were like that.

The girl's nostrils flared. In a second, she would cry for her mother or someone else and all hell would break loose.

Scott handed the girl the eyeball. "Please shut the door in Kid's Cove, yes?" The girl looked at him as if she wanted to start a fight anyway, but then she turned on her heels and marched back to the opening between the two walls, which turned out to be a door. She vanished and it slammed shut.

In the brief moment before that, the two adults could see a mess of limb-like parts piled onto each other, a white-pink hand and a vaguely fox-like head. The kids were throwing it around, ripping out every piece they could find.

Vincent flinched when Scott slapped his shoulder and pushed him towards the next room. "I know. But the customer is king. You won't have anything to do with them."

While they walked, swerving around customers – mostly kids in various states of disarray due to pizza – Vincent made a mental layout of the place. The Entrance, Kid's Cove. Next was a giant room, impossible to overview. They were greeted by a wave of the music they had heard all along, blended in with the background. The text was some lunacy about how everybody was happy, but Vincent recognized the melody as a part of Richard Wagner's opera "The Flying Dutchman". Any classics lover would have run away screaming.

The air was hot and smelled of fast food.

"There are three cameras alone for this room," Scott said. "The Show Stage, the Prize Corner and the Game area." He pointed in different directions.

They swerved around a carousel and some tables with balloons and ridiculously big gift boxes to reach the exit. Vincent got a look at the stage. The three famous animatronics were on stage, performing for the kids that were mostly running around screaming. Freddy Fazbear, Chica the Chicken and Bonnie the Bunny. It was incredible how fluent they moved, considering they were robots. And frankly, somewhat disturbing. Freddy's ears twitched and he turned his head as he sang in a clear bass voice. The blue eyes locked into Vincent's and the young man froze.

"They're pretty good, huh?", Scott said. He sounded so proud as if he had built them himself. He didn't seem to notice anything was off.

Freddy looked at them, No he was looking right at Vincent, as if he was actually seeing him, and didn't turn his head away. This was a bad joke. The eyes were plastic, after all. They only looked alive by a trick of light.

Vincent turned around and shook his head. "Yeah... really. Interesting technology, too."

"That's why the boss will be glad to have you."

They left behind the big room and followed a corridor along a hall with the bathrooms on the right. Here, too: Chessboard floor, posters, paper-mach pizza, glittering stars hanging from the ceiling.

In front of them was a room titled "Parts / Service" with another sticker "Employees only".

They turned to the left, down another hallway with two doors on both sides. It was loud. It was really loud.

"The party rooms," Scott explained.

They stopped in front of a huge metal rectangle. It wasn't a door in any way, rather the opposite, and looked like it belonged in a bunker. The office was rectangular. On both sides were big vent openings. In the middle stood a desk with a metal fan and something like a computer tablet. More stars swung from the ceiling, now mixed with cables and flexible pipes, moving in the stream of the air conditioning. A big poster of the animatronic band "decorated" the wall. The entrance was framed by piles of ancient screens on both sides.

Scott knocked on the metal frame and the man at the desk looked up. He was in his sixties and thin as a skeleton, with a tanned, broad face and a mob of neatly trimmed gray hair. The eyes were very light, almost translucent, and their gaze could have cut through a brick wall. Where everything else had been spared with mass, his hands made up for it. They seemed as big a shovels.

"Ah, Steven!"

"Uhm... my name is Scott," Scott said in a tiny voice. The man stared at him and then laughed.

"Of course. Sorry." His piercing gray eyes focused on Vincent. "I always make jokes like that. Excuse me. And you're the young man Scott said would like to take the night shift?"

They stepped into the office and in front of the desk. The old man stood up.

"My name is Adrian Laroche. I'm the manager of this restaurant." He let his gaze wander over him. Vincent knew exactly what he saw:

A tall young man, 26 years old, not muscular, rather scrawny, with a slender face and that kind of everyday attractiveness nobody really noticed. He was mediocrity in person. Except for one thing.

His hair was an even color of lilac, matching his eyes. At night, one might mistake it for black, but at night all cats were gray, or so the saying went. It was purple, pure and simple. The hair was usually down to his shoulders, but more or less pulled back into a ponytail now, except a few wild strands that had refused to be tamed and fell around his face and into his forehead.

How often had he already heard people ask if he was "some sort of punk". It wasn't even that he saw it as an insult – that particular movement was merely one more stream in so many new surges of rebellious youth. The real insult was that nobody accepted it was natural, a condition no doctor had been able to explain. Every last hair on his body was this color, and eyebrows and the traces of beard proved that to everyone who bothered wondering, even if it wasn't obvious against his pale skin.

"Vincent de Briss," he introduced himself after a few seconds, not turning his eyes away.

The managed nodded and looked down at a file. "I hope you understand we had to make a few inquiries about your person. It's mandatory for establishments aiming at young customers."

 _Inquiries?_ "Of course."

He didn't smile, didn't show a reaction. The old man did, though. "It says here you have a degree in engineering. I'm impressed. And relieved, to be honest. The company is on a tight budget and frankly, we can't afford a repairman all the time. Kids are so violent these days."

Vincent thought of the mess in Kid's Cove. Some passionate part of him cringed at it.

"Of course, the work will be included in your weekly payment. Did Scott tell you everything?"

"From 10 PM to midnight everything gets cleaned up and I'm to watch the monitors from 12 AM to 6 AM and take care nobody breaks in."

"Exactly. Well, if you feel like it and get bored, you might want to check out the animatronics in storage. Scott will show them to you later. We are currently switching between various casts: The old animatronics, the new toy versions and the original two. The old ones should be put into storage sooner or later, but the company is still working on the systems for the new band. They wanted to make the characters more kid-friendly and all that. Also, they have facial scanners tied into the criminal data banks. They call the police if a predator comes near the kids. There have been a few glitches, so they're out of order right now, except for Toy Foxy in Kid's Cove.

And then we have the Spring Suits. It would be great if you could check them out first. Spring Bonnie and Golden Freddy were the original mascots of the first restaurant, or so I was told. They are animatronics and can be worn as suits, but there have been... problems in other locations. But maybe that was only these new manufactured ones. Anyway, I'm glad to have you here. You may call me Adrian."

He offered his hand. Vincent stared down at it. "That's all?"

Adrian laughed, showing broad, white teeth. "Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's."

* * *

Tell me what you think.

I can't guarantee my time line will be 100% perfect, considering there are so many questions still left even now. So I sort of figured out my own time line which I'll stick to.

I'm already working on the first chapter, so stay tuned.


	2. Chapter 1

Here we go, new chapter. I'm so excited!

For character designs, check out my deviantArt account "Cedidit".

EDIT: I did a big, big change in the story, so I've updated the first three chapters. It's only a few details, but it's important for the story. (That happens when you just upload even though you didn't plan shit far enough.)

* * *

"You look great," Scott said, again with a hint of jealousy.

Vincent looked himself over. He wore a dark blue-purple shirt with a golden Freddy Fazbear badge on the left side of his chest. There was a pocket on the right and even epaulets. The hat looked like a stereotype policeman's, except it was the same dark color, with a shiny black shade, and had a little golden Freddy head on it.

The shirt was way too big for him. Stuffing it into his belt only managed to create vertical folds that sort of looked like they belonged there.

"Why is this place on such a tight budget anyway?", Vincent asked. "If it's like this every day you should be swimming in money."

"I'm pretty sure the management is made of idealists. They put all the money in the animatronics and those are super-expensive," Scott sighed. "Oh well. Anyway, it's still a good place. The payment is okay, the people are nice..."

"Scott?!", a female voice shouted. They both spun as the door to the safe room slammed open. The woman was no older than twenty-two or twenty-tree. She was tall, taller than Scott, almost at eye-level with Vincent, and had the build of a semi-professional athlete. Her light brown hair was in a tight ponytail, no more than a rabbit's tail. There was a scar on her right cheek, diagonally from under the eye to the nose.

Despite an obvious sprint, she was not out of breath. Her gorgeous blue eyes settled on Vincent. "Oh," she said. "Hi." She gave him a quick look-over. He was frozen in place, with only one thought: _Wow._

"Hi," he said, and his voice was as even and charming as it could be.

The girl smiled. Her name tag read Jenna, Vincent noticed. What a nice name.

"Scott, there's a problem with the Prize Corner again. I have no idea what the hell is going on."

Scott nodded and hurried out, leaving them behind. Jenna sighed. "Damned puppet. I hate that thing." She rubbed her neck and gave Vincent a small smile. "Not the best job choice if you're afraid of mannequins, huh?"

He smiled back, knowing he was under the usual observation again. Adrian had been a pleasant difference to the usual comments and questions. He blinked when Jenna stepped closer, squinting. She took his hand and examined his pale arms. Her skin was warm and smooth.

"Wow," she said after a moment. "Tell me, do your parents have dark hair?"

"Uh... yes. My father had black hair... and my mother too... why?" He was too baffled not to answer. Her hands were still in place and felt really, really good. She hadn't even introduced herself, but hell, she was great. If a bit confusing.

She ran her hand through the thin hairs on his arms, making his skin prickle. He usually hated it when people touched him without permission. It was a disappointment when she let go and straightened up to examine his face. They stared into each other's eyes for quite a while and Vincent felt his face slowly turn crimson. He couldn't remember when that had happened last. He usually gave a shit about what others thought. It was the only way to get through life.

Jenna smelled of roses. And stale pizza, but that wasn't her fault.

He looked into her eyes and she into his, but he got the impression she hadn't even noticed him staring.

"I never saw something like that," she said eventually. Her breath whispered over his skin before she stepped back. Her face was glowing with excitement. "Everything indicates a mild albinism that didn't affect the hair enough to turn it light, probably due to the other genetic premises. But the eyes shouldn't be that color then... remarkable." She continued babbling for a few minutes while walking up and down, throwing in some words Vincent had never heard of. Her slender body moved smoothly under the uniform and Vincent decided he had no problem with waiting.

"It's a mystery," she said happily when she finally stopped. There was a pause and her eyes widened. "Oh shit."

She took a deep breath and turned around. "I am so sorry. I didn't even introduce myself before jumping at you. I'm Jenna McCormick." She offered her hand and he took it. Smooth and warm and really nice.

"Vincent de Briss," he said, hiding his confusion with a smile.

"I'm sorry for doing that... I'm studying medicine with focus on genetic diseases and... you're so unique... You know, I'd like to write my thesis about your kind of condition. Can you come with me after the holidays? I'd like to talk to my professor. Maybe we can do a few tests, that's even free for you, so a win win situation. Only if you want, of course. Do you have any problems with your eyes?"

Vincent was still as far behind as being called unique – even if it was just in a medical sense – and needed a while to sort out the spill of words.

"Sure," he said. Then he reconsidered and thought that was a stupid answer. "Sure, I'll come with you. And no, my eyes are fine."

Jenna nodded, her brows furrowed in thought. "Very interesting," she repeated. "So... you're our new night guard?"

The sudden change of topic left his even more confused than before. "...Yeah."

The door opened and Scott poked his head in, looking a lot more tired than a few minutes ago. "Vince, I know it's not your job, but can you come and help me? They somehow managed to tangle Marionette's strings and I can't lift that thing while sorting it out."

"Scott?" Another young man in the Fazbear uniform appeared behind him. He bore a remarkable resemblance to Jenna, except his hair was a bit shorter and a lot more fluffy, standing to all sides where it wasn't pressed down by a cap. Freckles sprinkled his cheeks. He was not as trained as her, somewhere short of Scott's chubbiness, but also not as thin as Vincent. He had to be fresh out of high school. His name tag read Danny.

"The kid in Party Room 3 asks for you. You know, that black-haired boy... Ethan? He's short of a panic attack and... What do we do? I promised I'd be right back..."

Scott looked forth and back between Danny and Jenna, a look of helplessness crossing his features.

Jenna hesitated. Then she took a deep breath. "I'll help Vincent."

Danny blinked at her. "I thought you don't like the Puppet?"

She shook her head, a look of set stubbornness on her face. "Go."

Scott ushered Danny outside and they vanished. The relief in Scott's face lacked any fitting comparison.

Jenna brushed her hand through the tiny ponytail, making it wobble a bit. Other things wobbled as well, in a more pleasant fashion. "Not a clue how he manages to stay so calm with the kids. He and Scott... hell, I wish I had their patience."

"Is Danny your younger brother?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? But he's my _older_ brother, to be exact. Three years. He doesn't look like it, does he?" She smiled. "Hell, he loves working here. And the kids love him."

"So like Scott, a full-timer out of passion?"

Jenna laughed. "Yeah. That's exactly what he is. He would have become a kindergardener or teacher, but you can't imagine how mistrustful people are of men in these branches. It's ridiculous."

They left the safe room next to the entrance. Vincent followed Jenna to the Prize Corner, that was already emptied of the kids. A black and white figure was wrapped into its strings, hopelessly tangled.

"I hate that thing," Jenna whispered. "I swear to you it always looks like it knows something horrible." The power had already been cut and the motors were standing still. The figure was stick-thin, made of black fabric. Ridiculously long arms and legs were striped with white and on the chest gleamed three big gray buttons. The whole marionette had to be more than six feet from head to toe. Vincent frowned at the white mask. It was set in a wide grin, all black. There were red dots of lipstick over and under it and red circles on the cheeks. The eyes were black semi-circles with blue stripes running to the mouth like tears.

"The kids don't find it scary," Jenna said. "Am I being ridiculous?"

Vincent imagined this thing floating around, this grin directed at you. "No." _As if it knows something horrible._ He shook his head. It was just a stupid doll, just wool and filling and plastic.

"What about that box?" It stood at the wall, right next to the prize counter, and looked like a giant white present box with a red cross indicating a ribbon band.

"That's where it comes from, usually," Jenna said with a hostile look towards the box. "We always need to fold it up correctly, or it will mess up. There was a system when it could "fly" through the room and give presents to children, but it's broken. Gets stuck and so on."

Vincent looked up and saw the metal rails on the ceiling. "Have you tried taping over the breaks in the metal?"

She frowned. "Seriously?"

"Trust me, I'm an engineer."

Jenna laughed. "This evening, but if we fail, it's on you."

Vincent would have liked to explain that he _was_ an engineer, he hadn't been joking, but in the end he didn't. They disentangled the marionette from its strings and he realized Jenna was just as strong as she looked. They talked about various things, the job, family, the usual stuff. Jenna was from a small village way off and in the city to study. She hadn't exactly felt like going home to her parents over summer.

Eventually, it was done. It was getting calmer in the pizzeria as the evening progressed, although the heat outside didn't change, at least according to everyone who came in.

Danny finished his shift and went home, and a new guy came in, a quiet, blond high school student named Pete, who usually was there in the evenings to clean up.

When they were done cleaning up, everyone sat down in front of the big show stage. Adrian was in his office, leaving them to finish the day in peace.

They ate there, pizza and chicken wings, whatever they wanted.

"It's not healthy, but we get an employee's discount," Jenna said between two bites of pizza. "Good for poor students." She laughed.

"What do you think? Can you survive the job here?", Scott asked.

"Sure." Vincent sipped at his coke and looked around. The rooms were empty, the A/C still blaring, trying to dissolve the smell of stale fast food and many people. The show stage was dark and empty. Vincent felt relieved about that for some reason.

"Oh, right!", Jenna suddenly exclaimed and jumped to her feet. "We wanted to fix Marionette." Pete frowned at her and spoke for the first time.  
"How?"

"Well, _Vincent_ said we only needed to tape over the connections so it doesn't get stuck." She shot him a meaningful glance. They took a few chairs and Jenna gave him duct tape. There were small gaps between each rail segment. No wonder the wiring got stuck from time to time. Scott and Pete watched, the latter with wonder in his eyes. Scott looked tired, but amused.

It took quite a while to go over all the rails in the giant room. Pete and Jenna joined in after realizing it would take an eternity for him alone. After taping over every last crack in the rails and putting back what felt like half a million chairs it was finally done.

Jenna ran to the Prize Corner, shooting the box a hostile glance.

"Ta-daaah," she exclaimed anyway. There was a button with a keyhole under it, now with the fitting key. Jenna pressed the button in the Prize Corner. The Marionette came from its box like an evil spirit, a vague sound of humming motors in the background. Its feet, or where feet would have been instead of fine points, fell over the edge of the box. The motors roared louder and then the Puppet swerved gracefully around the room. Jenna's and Pete's jaw dropped. Scott smiled.

"It's... it's working," Jenna stammered. So much for her trust in his knowledge.

Vincent was about to say something when the puppet rushed over to him. He was still standing in the way of its predetermined path. The thing stopped right in front of him. It was programmed to avoid humans, so as not to fly into a customer. Hovering freely, it was almost a head taller. Tiny dots of light blinked in its staring eyes.

"Have you been a good boy?", a mechanical voice asked. The eyes stared and Vincent stared back, unable to move. He knew these eyes. He knew them, from somewhere. He just couldn't remember...

The Puppet's arm shot forward.

Vincent yelped and stumbled back, almost tripping over a chair. But it only held a small pink bow tie, probably from a present box.

The others laughed. A moment later, Vincent joined in, without meaning it, and without turning his eyes away from that creepy thing. He couldn't explain the strange feeling. He knew these eyes. He knew that bow tie. And it scared him.

"Have you?", a voice behind him whispered. A hand fell heavily on his shoulder.

Vincent froze, a scream stuck in his throat. He turned his head, just as bit. That's all he could do.

Brown. He had never been afraid of machines. Of course not, he loved them. So why...

 _Are you ready for Freddy?_ The old slogan, ridiculous as it was, seemed to have some darker meaning now.

"Come on, stop that," Scott called from the other end of the room, laughing.

Jenna giggled and Vincent was ripped out of his unpleasant daydream. Of course it was only her. What had he been thinking?

Scott pressed reverse, bringing the Puppet back in its proper storage place. Pete went to help him fold it up correctly.

Jenna grinned. "Told you it was scary."

Vincent managed a convincing laugh. "Oh yes. And you're sure the kids don't mind it?" Jenna's hand was still on his shoulder. He could feel her warmth through the shirt.

"Look at all the drawings. They love it. Maybe we're too old to understand that."

They didn't continue the conversation because Pete and Scott returned, closely followed by Adrian, and Jenna took her hand away. The spot where it had lain was warm, not the paralyzing heat of summer, but pleasant.

"Your brother called," Adrian told Jenna. "He's asking when you come home."

She rolled her eyes. "Are we done here, then?"

"Yes, you can go if you want. That goes for everybody except our new night guard of course."

"But Sir-", Scott protested. Adrian cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"No, Scott, you were here earlier, I saw that. Go home, get some sleep." Scott looked like he wanted to protest but didn't.

"Six AM," Jenna whispered as she walked past Vincent and was gone with a last swing of her hips.

Pete seemed glad he could go. He didn't look like someone who was good with new people. Or people in general. And even Scott left, after a quick goodbye and the promise to clean up at home.

It was silent.

"Actually, I almost thought you two were... acquainted," Adrian eventually said. "You and Scott. You're roommates, right?"

Vincent answered with an absent nod. What was this? He only knew Jenna for a few hours, but hell, she looked great. And she knew how to wear what she did. Her periods of awkwardness made it even more adorable. She was funny, and smart...

So what?

"I'm not saying that would be a problem. Just a few things: No longing glances, no holding hands. Be professional, everything else is not my cup of tea, like the Brits say."

Vincent looked at him blankly. He hadn't heard anything except something about tea. "What?"

Adrian broke out laughing. "Oh dear. And I never believed in love at first sight. Just keep it out of work, okay?"

Vincent nodded slowly and tried to smile. He had no clue what the old man was talking about.

Adrian shook his head, amused. "I'm not blind, lad. Everybody knows Jenna's great."

When the words reached him through his confusion, Vincent blushed. "Oh... OH. Yes, Sir. I-I'm sorry."

Adrian slapped him on the shoulder with another bark of laughter. "I'm here until eleven, so ask if you have a question. Take a look around, and maybe you could check if the animatronics are still complete. Some kids think it's fun to climb on the stage and smudge whatever they have over them or even take a piece."

"Yes, Sir."

"You don't need to call me Sir. Just Adrian."

"Yes, S- Adrian. Thanks."

* * *

He started at the entrance again. The double doors were locked. Outside, the sun finally vanished and gave way to the night, if not for long. Sunrise was around 5 AM, even a bit earlier.

Everybody had told him the Safe Room was actually supposed to be just that – a safe room for emergencies. No customer should ever go inside (said the manual Scott had already given him before they came here).

In reality it was used as a break room, a closet and for basically everything else that customer's shouldn't see. There were no cameras, which was somewhat odd, Vincent thought, and the animatronics also didn't know this room. He wasn't sure why that was such a relief.

Next, in the corner, was kid's cove. The room wasn't large, maybe five meters on each side. There was some kind of show stage as well, but it didn't seem to be in use. Instead there was... this.

Vincent knelt down next to the pile and examined it. He could make out a white fox-shaped head with rosy cheeks and lipstick, even pink eye shadow. One eyes was missing though. A metal endoskeleton head was peeping out as well, again with only one eye. The various limbs had no costume anymore and were connected in odd angles and in unfitting numbers. The whole thing looked pitiful and the engineer inside him cringed at this mess. But Scott had already told him enough to know fixing this would be love's labors lost.

On the left side was a small table fitted with a fresh tablecloth and party hats. The room was empty except for some weird black smears on the wall. Overhead, more of the tubes he had seen in the office were hanging down. Out of reach of the kids, but easily accessible for everyone else. Vincent made a mental note to ask what that was supposed to be.

The camera was right above the door.

He left Kid's Cove and strolled back into the big Show Room. The animatronics were back on the stage. For some weird reason, their lifeless, stiff presence made him shiver. They were just stupid _robots_ for God's sake! He was behaving like they could actually think. Besides, there was a camera at the edge of the stage. He could check in on them if he felt bad about it.

He already knew the Prize Corner, with the Puppet's box and all the plushies. So he went to the left. There were giant white cardboard boxes piled up, decorated with colorful ribbons, as if they were actual presents. A small carousel with only four animals – a bunny, a chicken, a fox and a bear – moved a few inches when he pushed against one of the pillars supporting the ornate roof.

He slowly spun in a circle to take in everything he was supposed to guard and his gaze fell on a strange little figure standing next to the table. It was the plastic statue of a fat little boy in blue trousers and a red-and blue shirt. On his head was a cap in the same colors, complete with that little rotor kids were so fond of these days. One ball-shaped hand held a bunch of balloons while he had a constant stupid grin on his face. Creep.

Vincent had to laugh about his own silliness. He had read too many books and now his fantasy was going overboard. Next, he would be afraid of the dark.

Grinning, he left the show room and went into the main hall. Nothing interesting, but when he was already here, a trip to the bathroom wouldn't be a bad idea either. He didn't need to run around in the darkness. A minute later he cursed at the way too big uniform shirt while trying to stuff it back into his belt. That was the only size that hadn't been way too short or even bigger. Obviously, somebody only thought of what security guards looked like in movies.

Vincent took a glance at the clock in the main hall. Half past ten. His shift officially started at 12. Still a while to go. Time to look into the storage room. That should be interesting.

The bulb flickered for a few seconds before finally coming to life. Vincent was greeted by shiny metal, plastic and the smell of mechanics. The shelves were disheveled, there were oil stains on the wall and floor, parts were lying around, strewn over a table.

Four animatronics leaned against the wall. Three of them had to be these new versions Adrian had mentioned. They were shiny plastic instead of the old fabrics and had red circles on their cheeks, big eyes and more eyelashes. Especially Chica looked more like a teenage girl now, in pink panties and with all the make up. Unlike the old version, she was slim, just like Jenna, and actually sort of pretty, like Jenna...

Vincent shook his head, concentrating on his surroundings again.

Bonnie was blue instead of violet and had big green eyes with eyelashes. Both Bonnie and Chica were smaller than their old counterparts. Freddy had stayed the same size, though. He even looked pretty much the same, except for a softer jawline maybe.

Kid-friendly. Sure.

Vincent sighed about his unusual jumpiness and turned towards number four.

"Hiya, Foxy," he said and had to smile.

They had been here before, he remembered. A few years back, on a road trip Scott's and his family had done together, the group had stayed in the city for a few days. Somehow, their parents had guilt-forced them into one last family trip, despite the two boys already being in college. The only good thing about stopping in such a ridiculous restaurant was that Scott's annoying little sister had been quiet for a few minutes while watching the animatronics. But Foxy... Foxy had actually been somewhat cool. Mary was afraid of him and left her brother and his friend alone, which was a big plus. Also, they both liked pirates.

Now Foxy didn't look cool anymore. His fur was tattered and parts of the endoskeleton shone through the ripped costume. The inner arms were completely bare, as well as the left ear with a chunk of his head, the complete lower legs, hands and the middle part of his body.

"You don't look so good, mate," Vincent sighed. "But who knows, maybe I can fix you up. I've got the time, right?" He ran his hand over the dusty fabric.

"Right then." This looked like the play chamber of a five year old. If they wanted him to fix these guys, he needed to have a little more order.

First off, all the loose parts belonged in crates, ordered by usage. When he wanted to put them on the shelves, it almost crashed down on his feet. He had to fasten half a dozen screws before the construct was more or less reliable.

"Who the hell designed this place?", he mumbled, which really meant "Who the hell worked here?". When there was something resembling an order restored, he swept the floor. The oil stains were dry and impossible to get off, but also not in the way. Eventually, he decided this was something he might actually be able to work with.

Almost 12 AM. Vincent looked down on himself. Dusty, his hands spotted with oil and maybe even his face. Awesome. He put away the broom and switched off the lights before returning to the bathroom. In the short time he didn't get away all the stains, but he managed to more or less clean his hands and face. Now he couldn't get a look in the four rooms remaining after all. He reached the office door right when the clock struck 12.

It was empty. Vincent called himself an idiot for panicking like that. Adrian had gone home an hour ago.

The A/C died when the lights went out in one big _thud_. He winced and looked back at the darkness that was now the hallway. What the hell? Had the generator failed? In this heat that wouldn't be a surprise, but why now?

"Wow. Great start." Sighing, Vincent entered the office. There had to be a flashlight somewhere.

On the table was a note in a stark, ordered handwriting.

 _Victor!_

 _I've already gone home while you were so busy in the storage. I appreciate your eagerness._

 _Some info:_

 _The A/C will go offline at 12AM and start up at six. Don't worry about that. If it gets too warm for you, there's a fan. Metal, so watch your fingers._

 _The main lamps won't be on except in your office. The cameras are equipped with a light, though. Just check from time to time, we had a burglar last week._

 _There's a flashlight in the top drawer of the desk._

 _Have a good first night._

 _Adrian_

Vincent stared down at the note for several seconds. Victor? Then he realized it was one of Adrian's "jokes". Vincent – Victor. There was a vague resemblance.

"Hell." He plopped down into the chair. It was silent now that the A/C was shut off, and it was already getting hot. A tap on the fan and a stream of lukewarm air brought at least a bit of relief.

Now he couldn't ask Adrian where those two old suits were he was supposed to look at. Oh well. Their loss.

Vincent picked up the tablet he had seen Adrian hold earlier. It was an astoundingly modern construction, around an inch thick and as big as a regular piece of paper. Heavy, too. But the picture quality wasn't that bad. It was even in color.

On the bottom left side was a map of the restaurant with the cameras marked. His fingers found two switches on the right side to change the camera along their numbering. One to four were the Party rooms he hadn't checked out yet. They looked all pretty much the same: Tables with party hats and a bit of decoration. And again these weird stains that looked like oil.

Cam 05 was the Main hall with the toilets, number eight the Storage. So Adrian had been able to see what he was doing all along. The idea was a bit weird, but hell, it was his restaurant.

Next was the show stage. The three old animatronics stood there, dark and lifeless and disturbing. He quickly changed the camera, calling himself an idiot and a wimp.

The Game Area with the weird balloon kid and the carousel came next, then the Prize Corner and Kid's Cove. Another click brought him back into the first Party Room. So much for that. The kitchen was somewhere behind the show stage, with a entrance at the right. There seemed to be no camera, though, just like the entrance. The only doors to the outside without a security system? That didn't make sense.

Vincent put down the tablet and stretched. So much for that. He should have brought a book or two. This would be one hell of a long night.

Switching through the cameras soon became boring. Literally nothing happened. What was there to happen, after all? But he didn't want to fall asleep on his first night. Besides, he wasn't that tired. So instead, he straightened up. There were some drawers set into the desk on his right. Maybe he would find something interesting. He opened the first one and found various office utensils, a stapler, a few notepads with the Freddy Fazbear logo, pencils. On top was a flashlight. Not one of the big, powerful and therefore expensive ones either. Tight budget and all that. He checked if the batteries were okay, and put it on the table. Just to be sure.

The second drawer couldn't be opened. Vincent rattled it, wondering if it was maybe stuck. There was a rustling sound inside, like papers. On second glance, there was a tiny keyhole in the shadows. Locked. So probably all the important stuff.

He tried the last one. It slid open to reveal a ring of keys. The tinkling seemed incredibly loud in the silence when he picked them up. Every key was marked with a few letters. PR1 was probably the first Party Room, ShS the Show Stage and so on. There was one small key that didn't bear an initial. It would fit perfectly into the lock of the second drawer.

Adrian hadn't said anything about not opening these and the key was right here. Then again, it might just be a trap for the new employees. That wouldn't have been the first time.

He made a mental note to ask Adrian about the drawer. The key had laid on a bunch of newspaper clippings. Since he didn't have anything better to do, Vincent took them out and began to read.

The first was an ad for a small restaurant called "Fredbear's Family Diner". It featured a pictogram of a bear with hat and bow tie, a lot like Freddy now. Funny enough, the restaurant had been only a few streets away from this location. There was an article discussing the opening and a review. The stack was pretty big, Vincent thought. Those were much more newspaper articles than such a small business deserved.

Then he got to the next layer and understood.

 **Child found murdered in front of Fazbear's Family Diner** , the headline read.

That had been back in August of 1970. At first, there were only local papers describing the scene in astounding detail, but eventually, a round a month later, even the bigger papers like The New York Times picked it up, despite the big headlines the Californian Zodiac Murders were making throughout the country.

Alex Radkowski, a ten-year-old girl from a Polish immigrant family, had been found dead in front of "Fredbear's", right next to the exit. Her hand, the newspaper claimed, had been extended, as if to grab and open the door. There had been several bruises on her arms and legs, even her neck, probably from struggling against whoever had killed her. The blood traces indicated she had been attacked right around the corner, in an alleyway with a few dumpsters. Whoever the killer had been, he had run off before checking if the girl was dead. Alex had dragged herself out onto the street and to the restaurant, searching for help, before she collapsed. She died of blood loss from several stabbing wounds in chest and stomach. One paper even said her entrails were hanging out.

The Times stated pretty much the same things, backed up by the official police releases, and a lot less gruesome than the tabloids competing for the most gory stories.

The weapon had probably been a pocket knife of some sort. The brutality of the killing shook the usually quiet city to the core. The Radowskis had been a well-respected and cherished family and everyone was hell-bent on finding the killer of this lovely little girl.

The investigation even brought the FBI in, but in the end, literally nothing happened. They never found who was responsible and there were no other known victims, not even missing children fitting the pattern. Despite never being proven guilty, Fredbear's suffered a lot under the investigation and closed down a few months later.

For over a year, nothing happened. Then the new restaurant was opened under a new company, with the new animatronics, and the name "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza", the one they had stopped by back then. Though the first restaurant looked somewhat familiar as well.

Freddy Fazbear's had some really rich sponsors, it seemed, and somehow managed to purchase and renovate a former factory – this building. There was an old list with the rooms and what had to be done, things like "Pizza decoration", "triangles" and "posters". The handwriting looked a lot like Adrian's. The factory had been thoroughly cleaned out, but they couldn't remove all the stains. Painting all walls seemed to be out of the question as well, so they improvised with all the decoration. That explained the black smears – probably rests of oil – and all the tubes and wires.

The last clippings were more reviews and a recent article about the murder of 1970. It was never solved and a psychologist called it a "random killing of lust and anger", maybe by a visitor in town. They didn't even have a suspect apart of the Fazbear-staff, of which every one had a perfect alibi. Customers could not be fully accounted for and most thought it had to be one of the travelers that left town and was never seen again.

Vincent put the papers back and closed the drawer. Three thirty-two AM. He had been reading for hours.

Yawning, he stretched, feeling his back make some rather uncomfortable noises. He had to think of a way to busy himself. This might be the most boring job in the world, but one hundred and fifty dollars a week were one hundred and fifty dollars a week. Scott had offered to help him switch to the day shift from time to time. Considering these annoying brats that might not be the best idea... but there was Jenna. Maybe he should ask Scott when exactly she was working. He could come in early in the evenings, work on the robots when everybody was gone... he didn't really have anything better to do with his life. Quite a sad realization.

The clock ticked on slowly. Vincent flipped through the cameras again, here and there switching on the lights to see better. The sky's soft glow reaching through the roof windows did its part, but by far not enough to see anything distinct.

"Who would break in here any-" He broke off. What was that? He could swear he saw something move. Frantically, he went back to the cams he had checked last. The Puppet's box was open.

Vincent stared at it. After a moment, he forced a smile on his lips. A trick of the shadows. He was tired and the rumors about this place freaked him out more than he wanted to admit. He flicked on the camera light. It was pretty powerful for such a small device and illuminated a wide circle.

The box was open.

It was empty.

Vincent took a slow breath, a shaky sound mingling with the purring of the fan. He looked through all other cameras, pausing at each one for a second to switch on the lights and check every inch of the screen. Nothing. The Puppet was gone.

His heart was suddenly beating fast, so loud any burglar would have heard it from the other side of the building. Vincent forced himself to breathe calmly and rubbed his forehead. This was silly. Sure, he had been distracted by reading for several hours, but...

"Time to check this out." He winced at his own voice, but got up with forced enthusiasm. How should anyone have stolen the Puppet? That thing was as heavy as your average woman and would make one hell of a noise. Not a chance he might have missed something like that. Then again, it couldn't have just vanished either.

"Why does that have to happen on my first night?", he mumbled miserably. He was so lucky to have found this job after all. One should think engineers were sought for everywhere, but no, he seemed to have bad karma or something like that. He remembered the last one best. His interview had been in her office and the woman's son had been there as well, a red-headed brat of maybe five or six years. The little boy had annoyed Vincent for so long he couldn't bite back on one sharp comment, and that had been it.

Vincent picked up his flashlight and left the office. Once the door slammed shut by itself, everything was quiet and dark, except where his beam shimmered on the tiles. He went along the hallway into the Main Hall. The doors were black holes. He was behaving like a little boy. An adult wouldn't get uncomfortable because of this. Vincent quickened his steps and reached the Show Room. His feet echoed on the floor, multiplied by the high ceilings. The light washed over the animatronics, but they didn't move. Of course they didn't. What a stupid thought.

He didn't head straight for the Prize Corner, but took a detour over the Game Area where he sat down on carousel-Foxy's back and tried to calm down. The flashlight was wavering way too bad to do any good. Slow, calm breaths, getting a bit more oxygen into his blood. Think clearly.

There was no need to panic. Things didn't just vanish. He hadn't fallen asleep. He would have heard any intruders. As far as he knew, there were only two entrances: the main doors and the kitchen. So maybe he should look there first. Nobody would be suicidal enough to try enter through the roof windows, and except for the entrance and the east side of the Show Room there were no others.

The front doors were locked, as well as the kitchen door, and he didn't see any marks that indicated being forced open. Same went for the windows. Maybe the vents? There was one shaft running along the kitchen from outside and then to the Safe Room, where it eventually went outside again.

Vincent had gone half the way to the safe room when he stopped. "Seriously?", he asked himself aloud, trying to enjoy the room to make as much noise as he wanted.

He had avoided the Prize Corner so far, not even gotten near it. He wasn't afraid of the dark, never had been. He was a grown man, for God's sake! "So act like it," Vincent murmured to himself, and turned around.

The Puppet was hovering right in front of him.

Vincent almost screamed. It came out as a tiny gasp. His body was covered in concrete all of a sudden, unable to move or even breathe. Clattering, the flashlight hit the ground and went out.

The puppet was floating, literally floating. There had been no sound of the cart system moving, and there were no strings attached to it. It had come at him without a sound, and was barely inches away, bending its mask down with this eternal grin.

"I remember," it said. The face didn't move, but it spoke. Not in a mechanical voice, but in the soft flow of real human speech. It was a child's voice, a young boy or maybe also a girl with dark hair and almost black eyes sparkling with dots of light.

"I remember," it repeated. The arms closed in on him, very slow, forming a wide circle. They would wrap around him and crush every last bone one by one until he finally was allowed to die. "Do you?" It rushed at him.

Vincent screamed and broke out of his paralysis. He needed to get back to the office or even better, out of here. But he'd need the keys for that. Just back into the light, some primal part told him. The light kept the monsters away.

His foot slipped on something that rolled away and suddenly he hit the ground. Stars exploded in front of his eyes.

"I remember," the voice whispered. "Do you?"

Vincent shot upright, despite every part of his body protesting, throwing wild glances around. _NO!_

He was sitting on the floor in the Show Room. The room was brighter now, illuminated by the summer sun rising.

No Puppet. It was quiet.

Shaking, Vincent got up on his knees. That turned out to be a bad idea, as they answered with red flashes of pain that made him groan and hastily stagger to his feet, falling heavily on a nearby table. His head was pounding and his mouth felt like sandpaper. Eventually, the nausea subsided a little and he could straighten up. He rubbed at his temple to find a crust of dried blood there. The corresponding stain was on the floor. For a few seconds, his vision dissolved into white static again. Then it cleared and he somehow managed to pick up his hat.

The batteries were spilled over the floor right where he had dropped the flashlight, but it took a while to find the casing. It had rolled all the way under the second table on the right, hitting the leg of a chair. There was a small crack where he had stepped on it. He put the flashlight back together, not expecting anything. It was more sturdy than it looked and flashed to life immediately. It wasn't dark anymore, but he felt better to have a little insurance.

Determined, Vincent walked over to the Prize Corner, paying no heed to the plushies grinning at him from the shelves. The Puppet's Box was closed. He ripped open one lid, almost slamming it against the next wall. There it was, complete with strings and whatnot. Of course it was.

Vincent let the lid drop back into place. He wasn't sure how he got there, but eventually, he sat down on the carousel again and rested his aching head in his hands. For some reason, they were cold, almost icy.

This was a bad joke. He had fallen asleep, that was all. Jenna and Scott both hated that Puppet thing, and the look on Pete's and Danny's faces had conveyed about the same attitude.

He had had a nightmare and followed it, or maybe even sleepwalked. That had happened before. He had dreamed up the terrifying encounter and passed out cold when he slipped on the flashlight. The Puppet hadn't vanished, it hadn't floated, it hadn't talked to him. All he had for this stupidity was an aching head and stiff knees.

Eventually, his trembling subsided enough that he could make a trip to the bathroom, where he scrubbed off the blood. He had suffered quite a bad gash at the edge of his left eyebrow and his knees were aching. He would probably get a few bruises. The rest of his body joined in with a vague ache that might as well be part of the shock.

He went to clean up the blood on the floor and then returned to the office, where he sat down to check the cameras again. It was 5:45 AM. Including the time to calm down and clean up... he had been out for at least an hour.

Tomorrow, he needed something to do. He couldn't fall asleep again.

His replacement came at half past six, half an hour late. He was a middle-aged, heavy-set man with receding brown hair. A movie security guard, in other words. He raised his eyebrows at the plaster and the generally ill looks of his colleague. The kid looked like he had been through a really bad night.

"All this happiness gets spooky in the dark, huh? You wouldn't think."

Vincent nodded and the man - his name tag read "Gordon" - opened the main doors for him. He didn't remember much of the drive home. The streets were still quiet, despite already bright as any day could be.

The flat he shared with Scott was still clad in darkness. There was the occasional snoring sound from his friend's room. Vincent took off the uniform and decided to put it in the laundry basket. He didn't think he could sleep, but he was gone after only a few minutes, sleeping too deeply to dream. He didn't close the blinds, though. The light of day had never felt better.


	3. Chapter 2

I'm writing real fast by now, and the storyline is progressing in directions I never thought of. So excited to share this with you.

Now then, night two incoming! I never thought this would turn out so long. (Actually, I never planned the fanfic to be this long already xD)

If you like it, tell me, fave, comment, whatever. You can also share your thoughts about the possible timelines, I'd be happy to start a discussion.

EDIT: I changed a few details concerning the outlay / details of the pizzeria. It has doors, you know.

Enjoy!

* * *

When Vincent woke up, it was half past three in the afternoon and his room was literally baking in the sun. His skin was coated in sweat and the bed sheet was soaked.

Groggily, Vincent stood up, wavering for a few seconds. Squinting against the light, he closed the blinds before trudging into the hall. The laundry pile had vanished, being replaced with a mess of clean, but crumpled clothes. Vincent left it there and took a shower. Under the lukewarm water (the coldest he could get), he finally began to wake up, assisted by a twang of pain in his temple. Right, he had completely forgotten the plaster there. Just because of a stupid nightmare.

He stepped out of the shower and didn't bother rubbing himself off. He was alone, the blinds were drawn and his skin prickled as it already began to dry. He replaced the plaster on his forehead. The injury hadn't started to bleed again and was half as bad as he had thought last night. His knees were a different thing. They were covered in a giant bruise each, so dark it matched his hair, and he could barely move them. "Well, shit," he said.

Now what? First, he made something resembling a breakfast, crossing the kitchen in some kind of arthritic limp. He was starving, but a look into fridge and cupboards didn't get any hopes up. In the end he had to make due with a piece of apple pie – a gift from the landlady – and some cornflakes he found in the last corner of their cupboards.

There was a note taped to the fridge, though. Scott loved these and they didn't see each other a lot, so that was the only way of communicating. As awkward and chaotic Scott might be around most people, he knew how to organize things, from the pizzeria to the household chores.

 _Can you come in for 8PM again? Overtime will be noted._

 _Also, please iron the pile in the hallway and go shopping. List is on the back._

Oh yes, Scott would be the perfect housewife. Vincent had to laugh about that thought, considering what Adrian had said. He and Scott? No way. Though the resemblances were astounding.

So, he took care of the clothes first. Most of the time was lost to figure out a system in which he didn't have to move his knees too much after having tied bags of ice around them. His face was no problem, he could easily cover that with his hair, but the others would notice if he couldn't walk properly. It was his second day, not a chance he could skip that. Besides, Jenna would surely be there.

Eventually, he dressed and went to the supermarket. He would have liked to take the car, but he needed to get his knees mobile again and he could only do that by trying to walk normally. People gave him funny looks anyway. Scott's list was short and precise and he was out in less than fifteen minutes. On the way out, he grabbed a few things he thought would be useful on his shift and a book called "Night Shift" by Stephen King. After that nightmare that might not be the best choice, but he loved the irony in the title. Maybe it would keep him from falling asleep.

The sun was searing hot once more and he would have liked to take a shower again. He felt like a baking turkey in the long trousers, but he couldn't have anyone see the bruises on his legs. So despite the pain, he brought the groceries home as fast as possible and changed into shorts.

Almost six. And now?

The decision was taken from him by a knock at the door. It was the landlady, Pamela Barnes. She was a widow, but a merry one as far as he knew. The rules were strict, but quite simple and not unfair. She smiled at him, clutching some kind of basket.

"Hello Mrs. Barnes," Vincent said, not able to keep the surprise out of his voice. "Uh... do you want to come in? We don't have coffee or anything... and the cake is yours."

She laughed and came in, her eyes running over him. She always seemed to scrutinize everything and there was barely anything she could miss. She noticed the white poking out under his messy hair and his outfit, a blue t-shirt, brown shorts, trainers. And his bruised knees, of course.

"So I was right," she said, some kind of satisfaction in her voice. Vincent closed the door and followed into the living room. It was dusky, because the blinds were still drawn, but even that almost didn't help against the summer heat. Thank God Scott had cleaned up yesterday.

"Is... Is there a problem?"

Mrs. Barnes looked around critically, then at him. She was a small woman that always wore her silver hair in a perfect bun. Her blue eyes were still sharp despite an advanced age and one might guess she had been beautiful in her youth. Even in this heat, she wore a beige jacket over her blouse and skirt. She always wore these kinds of clothes, in all varieties of brown and gray. Vincent had never seen her in anything else.

"Yes, my dear. You."

He blinked. "What?"

Mrs. Barnes grabbed his arm and a second later he sat on the sofa while she took the towel off her basket. She set the basket down and took out a pot with some kind of creamy green substance.

"I saw you walking down the street and thought you must have hurt yourself. What happened?" She knelt down and began to apply the green whatever-it-was to his bruised knees. The substance was cold and felt actually quite good. Vincent was way too startled to do anything else than hold still. The pressure hurt, but the feeling was replaced with a relieving numbness soon.

"I- I slipped," he said.

"Ah." She didn't say anything more until the pot was empty and she had washed her hands. "Don't move them too much for an hour or two," she told him while wrapping tight bandages around his knees. "When does your shift start?"

"A-At eight", Vincent stuttered. How did she even _know_ he had a new job? Scott hadn't been kidding when he said Mrs. Barnes was better than the CIA.

The old lady stood up and groaned at her cracking knees. Vincent hastily helped her up, but didn't dare to rise to his feet. He couldn't feel his knees anymore. It was a welcomed difference to the pain, but he wasn't sure if he could walk.

"Thank you, love." She brushed his hair back and took off the band-aid without a word. Vincent winced, startled. Mrs. Barnes applied the tiny rest of the green stuff on the gash. It stung a little, but then the pain vanished. Whatever it was, it smelled of herbs, none of which Vincent knew.

"Have you already eaten?" She didn't give him time to answer before vanishing, just to return with a glass of the milk he had bought just a few minutes ago, plates, and cutlery. Then she somehow retrieved pancakes from her basket and wouldn't accept No as an answer.

"You're too thin," she said and that was the end of any discussion.

"Thank you, Mrs. Barnes," Vincent said politely while getting down one pancake. They were good, he had to admit. He still hadn't figured out this woman. Maybe he never would. "That was..." He would have said _not necessary_ , but that would probably sound rude. "...really kind. What was that stuff?"

She giggled The sound would have fit a younger woman. "That 'stuff' was a recipe from my grandmother. Helps against all kinds of injuries. I'll give you another pot and when you're at work alone, you can put more on your knees. Just take care you don't get it anywhere else, it's hard to get out of fabric."

He didn't know what to say else than "Thank you" again. Mrs. Barnes patted his shoulder. "You're such a lovely young man and a perfect tenant." She sighed. "I suppose that's the curse of old age. I don't have any kids, so I look elsewhere to help. You're working at Freddy Fazbear's, aren't you? How was the first night shift?"

He hadn't exchanged so many words with the landlady in weeks, although she stopped by from time to time.

"How do you know that?" The question was no reproach, just plain surprise.

Mrs. Barnes winked at him. "I have my sources." She made a significant pause, but couldn't bite back on a laugh at his confused face. "Adrian is a friend of mine. He asked me about you a few days ago, because he knows Scott and you live here. Wanted to know what kind of person you were, the usual." A pensive look crossed her face. "Adrian also told me my hunch was wrong."

Despite having already eaten, the pancakes were so good Vincent took a second one after all. It almost made him miss her last sentence. "Hunch?"

"Oh, nothing. He just mentioned you like this girl, what was her name..."

"Jenna." Strong, agile, funny, clever Jenna with her scarred face and the bright eyes and... Vincent shook himself out of the daydream. What was wrong with him? He had never fantasized about a woman like that. Another thought struck home when he tried to find out where the conversation had stopped. Oh. Not again.

Mrs. Barnes smiled knowingly. "I'll leave the pancakes here. Scott will surely be hungry." Vincent really doubted that, but didn't say anything. "I know the way out. Rest a bit, love." She actually ruffled his hair before she picked up the basket and went into the hall.

"The medicine is in the refrigerator," she called just before the door slammed shut.

Vincent blinked into the twilight.

"What?", he asked. Nobody answered.

At Quarter to eight, he eventually forced himself to stand up. His knees felt a little stiff, but he could move and the pain had faded. A lot.

Knowing Scott wouldn't appreciate a mess, he brought the plates into the kitchen and put the pancakes in the fridge. There was a small pod, closed with a plastic lid.

The bandages were still tight in place, not letting anything through. Walking was not pleasant, but also by far not as bad as before. Vincent put on the uniform and brushed his hair. Five to eight. He had to hurry.

He didn't make it until three minutes past eight, but nobody noticed. The restaurant was closing at ten, and now it was packed. Once again the door to Kid's Cove was open, but the room was empty.

"Thank God." Scott had beads of sweat trickling over his face, despite the A/C at full blast. He looked pale and tired. Who was leading this place? Surely not Adrian.

The door of the Safe Room fell shut behind him. "Listen, the animatronics had a breakdown and we can't use the new versions. Right now the Puppet is distracting most people, but we gotta get another show on, there are three birthdays booked. Jenna and Danny have agreed to wear the spring suits, but they can't put them on without help. Backstage, go through the kitchen. Please."

"Only if you go back in there and give yourself a break. A new shirt wouldn't be a bad idea either."

Scott looked around if any of the customers were close. They weren't. "I can't. There's too much to -"

"To do, yeah. I'll just tell Adrian he can do that for an hour. It's his restaurant after all."

Scott shook his head, a look of utter horror on his face. "Vince, you don't understand."

Vincent shoved him back to the door. "I do. Now go before I make you." He thought of the little box in his bag. His knees began to throb again, but he had still two more hours to go, if not more.

Scott knew better than to talk back now. He saw the flare in his friend's eyes.

Vincent crossed the Show Room. The stage was empty, fast-paced ridiculous music was blaring from the speakers.

A child bumped against his legs, shoving him against a table. A red wave of pain washed all the way up to his waist. He barely managed to grit his teeth against the overwhelming need to cry out. The child stopped and glared at him.

It was the brat from yesterday.

Her eyes narrowed. She had recognized him as well and was thinking about making a fuss. For a moment, Vincent had the strong urge to shake her until she finally learned a little more politeness, but he only forced a smile on his face.

"Careful, dear," he said charmingly. "Don't hurt yourself."

She snorted and ran on. Vincent refused to follow her with his eyes. Stupid chit. He had to keep away from her before anything happened. He really needed that job. Not all kids could be that bad. Others managed them as well. Besides, what should everyone think of him?

(Jenna in particular.)

He reached the kitchen while carefully swerving around any other kids that might get in his way. It was even hotter inside, steam and the smell of baking fast food everywhere. The personnel – he didn't know any by name – waved him through. Two men, one young and slim, one heavy-set and red-faced, a young woman that looked like a student, her black hair in a loose ponytail and clad in what she seemed to see as lascivious challenge, all somewhat taped over with an apron. It looked completely ridiculous, despite her flat stomach and the pretty curves.

The room to the left was only lit by a few small bulbs that flickered badly. One "wall" turned out to be the red curtain behind the stage. Jenna and Danny turned around when they heard the door.

"Oh, hi," Danny said.

Jenna smiled brightly, but there was a small line between her eyebrows, not yet a frown. Her brother didn't seem to notice. "Great to have you here. There are these audio tapes Scott made, but they're just readings from the manual, so... care to lend a hand?" As if to justify his statement, Danny pressed a button and Scott's voice came from a small cassette player.

" _Uh, hello! Hello, hello! Uh, welcome to your new career as a performer/entertainer for Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Uh, these tapes will provide you with much needed information on how to handle/climb into/climb out of mascot costumes. Right now, we have two specially designed suits that double as both animatronics and suits. So please pay close attention while learning how to operate these suits as accidents/injuries/death/irreparable and grotesque maiming can occur."_

Scott's voice wavered for a moment, switching into a "I'm only reading this, it's got nothing to do with me"-tone.

"Cheerful, huh?", Danny asked with a grin.

Vincent scratched his neck. "Uh-huh." He stepped closer to examine the two suits. They were big, around six feet five, and both yellowish-brown in color, which probably counted as gold.

"Say Hi to Golden Freddy and Spring Bonnie," Danny exclaimed theatrically, spreading his arms like an enthusiastic show host.

In the background, Scott's voice rumbled on. "... _the animatronics are set to turn and walk towards sounds they hear_... _"_

Golden Freddy was literally a golden version of the current Freddy Fazbear. Old or new versions, they never really deviated from the original design.

Spring Bonnie didn't look like Bonnie. It had a dark red bow tie and two buttons on its chest. The face was a lot rounder and there was some kind of almost scar-like mark diagonally over its right eye.

"Ethan scratched it with a knife when he got scared," Danny explained, following his gaze. "We didn't get the mark out completely." He shrugged his shoulders.

" _T_ _o change the animatronics to suit mode, insert and turn firmly the hand crank. Turning the crank will recoil and compress the animatronic parts around the sides of the suit, providing room to climb inside,"_ Scott explained on the tape.

Jenna offered him the crank. It was slightly more than a foot long and solid steel. The line between her eyebrows had deepened.

Changing the mode was fairly easy. The tricky part was getting someone inside. It could be done alone, theoretically. But it was an act of balance.

Vincent had his doubts Danny would make it – he wasn't exactly a slim guy - but surprisingly, he fit in. "Not really comfortable, but it's not forever," he said with a grin before putting on the head.

"See ya on stage." And with that, he marched out through the curtain, where he was greeted by ecstatic cheers.

Jenna didn't say anything while he helped her put on the Spring Bonnie suit. Why? Had he done something wrong? As cute as the frown looked, he didn't like it at all. They had only known each other for a few hours, but...

"Are you okay?", Jenna asked eventually. He winced, ripped out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, sure," he replied hastily. She shook her head, not satisfied with that answer.

"Gordon told us you looked really bad when he came in this morning. And you're limping."

Vincent didn't avoid her piercing blue eyes, although he wanted to. Was it that bad? Mrs. Barnes medicine had helped a lot. He didn't want to know what he had looked like walking to the supermarket.

"Oh, just... I tripped over something. It's nothing. Uhm... Hey, did it happen before that the Puppet's motors activated by themselves? A malfunction in the system maybe?" The lie came as easy as any.

Jenna blinked at him. "I always thought the power is shut off from twelve to six?" She thought about it. "We never had a night guard before you, but no, at least we never found it outside its box. Why?"

"Oh... Strange. Maybe I should check on that some time. You okay in there?"

"Hey, if Danny fits into such a thing, I do too."

Vincent gulped. "I- I never wanted to say... That's not what I-"

She laughed. "Hey, that was just a joke." The suit huffed a little when she moved her arms. "Can you check on that one? It's somewhat tight."

Vincent felt his cheeks burn and was glad to concentrate on another task. A few small turns with the crank strained the suit a little, but then Jenna said it felt better.

" _Try not to nudge or press against any of the spring locks inside the suit. Do not touch the spring locks at any time,_ " said the Scott on tape.

"There are all kinds of scary rumors about the suits. Accidents and all that. We never had any problems, though." She opened the curtain a crack to peer outside. Danny was singing pretty well, even if the text made no sense whatsoever.

"The locks are pretty weak," Vincent stated without thinking, examining the metal shining through the gaps in the animatronic costume. It was the first thing that had come to his mind. "They should have been replaced years ago, if you ask me."

"Oh right, Scott told me you're actually an engineer. Why didn't you say so?"

Vincent looked up, another layer of red making his face prickle uncomfortably. He rubbed his neck and tried to smile. Hell, where was his acting talent when he needed it? "I suppose it just... I just... forgot. In all the chaos. First day and all."

He noticed he was still holding Spring Bonnie's (and therefore Jenna's) right arm and let go, not seeming too hasty, he hoped. Jenna smiled. "I thought you were joking. Man, I'm so glad... Scott's always so worried. Without him this place would crumble in less than a week." She hesitated for a second. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"It was just a stupid nightmare." The same moment he froze in panic. He hadn't wanted to say that out loud.

"A nightmare, huh?", Jenna asked softly. Vincent avoided her gaze. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it and damn it again. He should keep his mouth shut if he had nothing intelligent to say.

"But of course, two is better than one," Danny's voice came over the stage speakers. "So I've brought an old friend. Say hello to my partner Spring Bonnie!" The crowd cheered.

Jenna hissed. "Idiot!" Vincent hastily gave her the animatronic head. She grumbled a little inside and then went out onto the stage.

"Hello kids! Are you ready for a good time?"

Vincent was left alone in the backstage room. Jenna's eyes had been worried. She shouldn't have heard this at all.

Just a nightmare.

Just that.

The show went on for about fifteen minutes until Danny stumbled back behind the curtain. The golden suit wavered from one side to the other, as if Danny couldn't hold his balance.

Vincent jumped to his feet. On Scott's request, he had waited there the whole time. If Freddy's spring locks were as fragile as Bonnie's, Danny was in life-threatening danger. He had to be pushing against the locks with every movement.

Danny sagged against him. The suit and its occupant were way too heavy for Vincent to carry, but for a few seconds, his body managed to support the weight, countering it with his own. It was enough for Danny to catch himself. He took off the head. The movement was slow and shaky, as if he could barely lift his arms. When the costume head finally came off, his face was colored a deep red, glistening with sweat, and the brown hair looked like a helmet three shades darker than usual.

"Bit hot in there," he panted. Vincent helped him out of the suit, switching it off. The spring locks crunched as they loosened. The sound made him shiver.

Danny's uniform was completely soaked and sticking to his body. He sat down heavily on a crate that seemed to belong to a kind of scenery and groped for a bottle of water. Slowly, he regained his breath and an exhausted smile spread on his face.

"I forgot how stuffy they are."

"How old are these?", Vincent asked, examining the suit. He tried to ignore the stench of old sweat. Thank God he didn't have to wear that thing. The spring locks were old and coated over. They could break loose at any possible time. The mechanics could easily crush a human, leaving only a bloody pulp to scratch out of the suits or best be incinerated as a whole...

His throat tightened. Vincent tugged at his tie, trying to cover how nervous he was all of a sudden. The room felt ten degrees warmer than before.

Jenna was out there and in danger. Who had allowed these to be used?

His stomach turned when he saw a suspicious stain on the inside of Golden Freddy's upper arm. A big stain. The spring lock shimmered red.

Vincent's voice was calm and relaxed. "Danny, did you cut yourself?"

A rustle behind him, then Danny hissed in pain. "Yeah. Oh... Oh no."

Vincent left the suit to itself and turned around. Danny met his eyes with a helpless expression and looked even younger than usual. The gash was almost three inches long and ran diagonally over his arm. A red stream left complicated patterns on his reddened skin and dripped on the floor in huge splashes. Danny tried holding the gash shut and the fingers of his left hand were already smeared without accomplishing anything. The bleeding was bad, and it was very close to an artery.

There was a queasy feeling in his belly, so Vincent hurried to get a few towels Danny could press against the wound. Either way, the backstage looked as if somebody had brutally killed someone.

Under disappointed calls, Spring Bonnie stepped behind the curtain again. Jenna took off the head the moment she was out of sight. She was soaked as well, but not as exhausted as her brother. Her eyes widened when she saw him. The wound hadn't stopped bleeding until Vincent had made a makeshift tourniquet with his belt. Danny was very pale.

Before anyone could say anything, Adrian stormed in from the kitchen, clearly notified by the girl, or maybe the assistant cook. They had been spying out of their shelter all along.

"Dear God," Adrian breathed.

"I'm sorry," Danny said. He looked at the ground, still clutching the soaked towels. "I'll clean up, I promise." He sounded ashamed of himself.

"You won't do anything except for getting that stitched up," Jenna snapped. She had somehow wound her way out of the suit. The clothes were tightly glued to her slender body now, revealing everything Vincent had already imagined, even better in reality. He snapped himself out of it before he started drooling.

 _Try to be normal just for once. Ask her out for breakfast or whatever when this is over._

Danny's eyes flashed as he tried to look offended. "Oh, come on, it's not that bad."

"When did it happen? Not when you came in for sure," Vincent said absently, remembering the giant stain inside the suit.

Danny hesitated. "Shortly after Jen came out... I couldn't ruin the show!"

There was a short pause. Then Jenna shrugged and hugged her brother, resting his head against her stomach. "You idiot."

"I'll take him to the hospital," Adrian said. "You people wrap up here. Good job, Victor." Before Vincent could say anything, the old man nnnhad grabbed Danny, supporting the shaking boy in a fireman's carry and dragged him to the kitchen and the back door.

There was a long silence.

Jenna wiped her face. Her sigh sounded more like a sob. "Damn idiot," she murmured.

They stored the suits in a corner. They were way too heavy to drag all the way across the pizzeria and there was a ventilation shaft. Even if it did nothing for the heat, it could at least dissolve a bit of the smell. They cleaned up the blood as best as they managed. The end result looked like someone had spilled paint there. Or hopefully it did.

Jenna didn't say a word the whole time and Vincent was way too occupied with his screaming knees to pay attention.

"Thanks," Jenna said eventually and let herself fall on the crate. She threw the towel in the bucket. The water was a sickening pinkish red. It had gone quiet in the meantime. Probably Scott had taken care of everything. Like always.

Vincent sat down beside her and tried not to show what a relief it was to finally ease the pressure on his knees.

"Blood making you squeamish?", Jenna asked.

"A bit." Vincent cleared his throat. Lies were such an easy thing. Usually. "He'll be okay."

"I guess. He's tougher than you might think. Still, he's so..." She made an angry sound, searching for the word.

"Devoted?", Vincent proposed.

"Yeah. Devoted. To the kids. To this whole hellish business." She leaned back and stretched. The shirt strained against her breasts and disclosed a portion of tanned, muscular stomach. Vincent quickly averted his eyes. "What about you?"

"Me?"

She touched his knee. Her hand sent a pleasant little shock through his body. Damn it, she shouldn't... he shouldn't...

Jenna tightened her fingers and Vincent cried out in pain and surprise. Jenna let go immediately.

"Thought so." She brushed over his leg. "Sorry."

"What?", he managed. The throbbing that he had somehow managed to shut out when he sat was back to full force. The sweat on his face felt cold all of a sudden.

Jenna knelt down and pushed up his trousers. Luckily, the legs were wide enough for that. "Oh please, I know your type. You'd never admit you're in pain and need help."

 _My type? ...Would that be your type?_

Jenna frowned at the bandages, now shimmering a little green. "What's that?"

"Some... uh... ailment I guess. My landlady gave it to me. Am I so bad at hiding it?"

"No. I just have an eye for..." She drew in a sharp breath when the bandage on his left knee came off. The bruise had turned from purple to black, interlaced with threads of brownish yellow and green. Rests of herbs stuck to his skin. It looked like someone had thrown paint on him, a stark contrast to the almost white-purplish skin. It seemed to be working well. Still, the sheer size of the injury was startling. It hadn't looked that bad this afternoon.

"You _tripped_?", Jenna repeated his own words. "When? How?"

Vincent felt his face slowly turn into an oven. "I- I checked around last night and dropped the flashlight. I guess I slipped on it... It's nothing, really."

"That's not nothing," Jenna said categorically. "You got more of this stuff? It seems to work pretty well."

"In my bag." He wanted to stand up, but Jenna shoved him back and went to get it, her linen trousers clutching her body tight. She had to be a sports enthusiast, with the fluent movement and silent strength. God, she was gorgeous.

Vincent had just dropped the bag in the corner when he came in. It rattled when Jenna picked it up. She raised an eyebrow, but let him get the little pot himself. She knelt down again and began applying the paste to his knees.

"Was it the Puppet?"

For a second, he considered lying. But then again, why? There was nothing to it. "It activated during the night, I'm not sure why. It startled me, that's all."

"Understandable. I'd pee my pants if that thing came at me from the dark." She smiled briefly and went back to wrapping fresh bandages around his knees. "Anything else? This stuff is really awesome. Ask your landlady for a recipe for me, okay?"

"Sure. That's about i-" Jenna had already spotted the plaster and pushed back his hair. For some reason the hair in his neck rose with a pleasant tension at her touch. When she took off the plaster it was less enjoyable. The medicine stung a little, but now Jenna's face was really close, too. Lavender this time. What would happen if he just kissed her now? Would she be surprised? Angry? Or would she blush and laugh? Or... even return it?

"Vincent?" He winced, his eyes focusing again. Jenna had long since stepped back to look him over once more as a whole. And he had been sitting there dreaming like a complete idiot.

"What were you thinking about?"

"Oh, just... just wondering about... stuff. We should clean up here so you can go home soon. To Danny." He felt a fresh plaster on his forehead. "Thanks... for everything."

"Oh, that's nothing." Vincent rolled his trousers down and followed Jenna into the kitchen where she washed her hands. The personnel was cleaning up and Jenna introduced them to him.

The big, red-faced cook was George Ramirez, but wanted to be called Signore Ramirez like an Italian chef, not minding the fact his name was of Spanish origin rather than Italian. His assistant's name was William Monet, which was sort of pronounced like money without a distinct Y at the end. And the girl that looked like a 14-year old trying to be cool was Molly Jenssen. She was a high schooler that never seemed to stand still. She shifted her weight from one side to the other or lifted a foot for a second or crossed and uncrossed her arms, all in a varying pattern.

"Will Danny be okay?", she asked nervously.

"Of course he will," Jenna promised. Molly nodded, but didn't seem convinced. There were scratches on her arms, Vincent noticed. They looked like a cat's work. Or a knife's.

Vincent and Jenna left the kitchen. Quarter past ten already. The restaurant was empty. Pete was sweeping the floor in the Prize Corner. He greeted them with a short nod, but didn't say anything.

"She's into Dan," Jenna said quietly. "And Pete is into her, but way too shy to ask her out."

 _And I'm into you_ , Vincent thought, caught between anger, embarrassment and a strange kind of bliss. His knees had stopped hurting. Thanks to Jenna. It couldn't be so difficult to ask her out.

"Hey, Jenna?"

They stopped in the doors to the foyer. "Yes?"

He took a breath.

"Guys!" Scott was still pale and there were new dark stains on his shirt, but at least it was a fresh one. He seemed a little more relaxed now.

Vincent could have killed him. He had ruined this important moment and didn't even acknowledge it! Vincent clenched his fists, but in a way the others wouldn't see. He couldn't have Jenna know how angry he was.

"Adrian called in from the hospital. Danny has three stitches, but he's fine. The boss is bringing him home. Everybody else okay?"

"Yeah," Vincent murmured. His voice was a growl, taken over by disappointment instead of anger. Scott looked from him to Jenna and back. A small frown appeared on his face.

"Jenna, do me a favor and start with the party rooms. Vince, you can help me with the Puppet."

Jenna nodded and left. When he saw her coming, Pete switched to the Game Area when he saw them coming, ignoring a little corner in favor of doing it later, perhaps.

"How bad was it?", Scott asked. "The suits. Can we still use them?"

"No!" Scott winced and looked at his friend with wide eyes, startled about the aggressive tone. Vincent forced his voice to go back to the usual soft tone. "They're dangerous, Scott. These spring locks can break loose if you just look at them the wrong way, metaphorically speaking. They need to be replaced. No sane person would go in that thing."

That cursed puppet. There were no lights in its eyes now. Of course not. Behind the mask was only black canvas. The limbs only followed the movement of the strings. The legs ended in thin points, whereas the arms had some kind of three-fingered hands. There were small plastic parts laid into the palms to hold present boxes or toys. That was all.

Scott grimaced. "I thought so. The last engineer said the same thing. That was three years ago."

"What about these rumors? Danny mentioned there have been accidents."

Scott gulped and went a few shades paler. Hastily, he went back to arranging the Puppet's strings. "Yeah, that was in, uh, a sister location. An older guy. The spring locks broke loose. All of them. He made it into the kitchen I think... I talked to the other employees... they said they didn't know what was going on until they saw the blood running from the suit. I-I saw the mess... it was..."

"He was crushed," Vincent finished. "There's a lot of pressure on the mechanics." He frowned. There had been one day... it was almost exactly three years ago. Scott had been working at a small pizzeria while Vincent usually had small jobs at stores in the evenings. They had still been in college, Vincent in Engineering and Scott in Business Administration. The jobs somehow managed to pay enough that they could get through with a shared flat.

They had met up at the college parking lot. Scott had been pale as a ghost and trembling so badly he could barely hold his car keys. He ate almost nothing for a week and refused to explain what had happened. He had signed a discretion pact, was his only excuse.

"How was your first night?"

Vincent made a vague sound. Scott didn't take it as an answer. He wanted the subject changed. "Gordon said you looked pretty bad."

"Night spooks. I should stop reading scary books."

A small smile crossed Scott's face. He dropped the lids of Puppet's box. They were heavy wood and slammed shut with a loud bang. Vincent stared at it for a few pensive seconds. He had an idea.

"You okay, man?"

Vincent grinned. All of a sudden he felt a lot better. "Yeah. Fine. Besides, I was shopping and ironed the laundry. You get some sleep, okay? You look like a zombie."

Scott laughed. He stretched out his arms and rolled his eyes back. "Braaaaiiiins," he moaned, and made a stiff, menacing step towards Vincent. He got as far as that before stumbling over his own feet. Vincent caught him and they both burst out laughing. Pete shot them a confused glance, trying to hide a shy smile.

They were done at quarter to eleven. Record time. Vincent didn't feel like fast food, neither did Jenna, and Pete looked a bit sick when he returned from the backstage. Scott's decision was sealed when Vincent mentioned the pancakes Mrs. Barnes had brought.

Pete went out first, with a "Bye" almost too quiet to be heard and left them standing in the entrance.

Jenna hugged Scott. "You get some sleep."

Scott only sighed, but Jenna shook her head and fixed him with her bright blue eyes. "Promise."

"I promise, I promise," Scott capitulated, raising his hands in a submissive gesture.

"Vince, do us a favor and look at the animatronics. The old ones. After that... incident, uh, I don't think we can use the spring suits again." He cleared his throat. "Or want to." Another pause, as his eyes flickered over the room one last time. "At six Vika, the cleaning lady, comes in. She's sort of talkative, so... just nod at some points and smile. She's not a bad person." That was sort of an odd statement, even for Scott, but Vincent didn't ask. They bumped fists and Scott vanished into the twilight of a summer day's end. Jenna and Vincent were alone.

"You be careful, okay?", Jenna said. She brushed his hair aside to look at the plaster. Her hand was smooth and strong and her eyes had the color of a far away exotic sea. Suddenly he wondered where she had gotten that scar.

"Sure," he said quietly. She had to be his. She had to. His and nobody else's.

"Have a good night." She smiled back at him. He wanted to hold her back, even reached out. There was something he needed to ask.

"Jen-" The doors fell shut.

"Jenna," he finished. No hug for him. Then why the hell was she so close to Scott?

For a few seconds, a wave of rage and jealousy washed over him. This was unfair.

Vincent turned on his heels and marched back into the Show Area, enjoying the dull aching in his knees. Time to work.

 _Coward._

The voice was deeper than his own, with a rougher edge to it, but it was still his. The tone, the patterns and even the way he pronounced every letter. And it was very familiar.

"Oh shut up," Vincent murmured. Nightmare, glitch, whatever. He was prepared.

The Puppet's box was massive wood and the lids were heavy. Usually, they opened by means of small motors on each side. The power would be out at 12, but Vincent disconnected the motors anyway. It was only a few cables.

Next, he got two 25-pound sacs of flour from the kitchen. They landed with a heavy thud and the wood squeaked a little when they came to rest on top of the box.

"Try getting out of _that_ ," he said, looking over his work with a silly amount of satisfaction. This probably made him look like a complete idiot. The good news were that there was no one to see him. Of course the thing hadn't gotten out. It never even folded up correctly by itself. But tricking the subconscious was easier than one might think. And now a glitch was out of the question. Problem solved.

Quarter past eleven. He still had a lot of time. Adrian probably wouldn't come back tonight. Danny should be long home now.

After dropping his bag next to the desk in the office, Vincent took out what he had brought: A heavy leather belt with some more pockets and two carabiners. One for the keys, so he had them ready at any time, and one for the flashlight. Additionally, he had brought his own, a somewhat stronger model with a metal casing. It might be overkill, but in case of a real burglar, it might come in handy.

Vincent flicked through the cameras once. Nothing. Of course not. He checked all the exits and locked the doors.

Now he should look at the animatronics. He had never worked with that kind of technology. That should be interesting. Besides, he couldn't let Jenna... let _anyone_ use these old suits again. It was way too dangerous. Maybe... loosening one or two or three dozen screws in the right places... they might falter all on their own. Might give him a minor heart attack in the middle of the night, but still...

Maybe he should bring the animatronics into the office to work on them. When the lights went out he didn't really feel like sitting in that storage room on his own. He shook his head and left the office. Twenty past eleven. Still a lot of time just to take a first look.

Against the toy versions, the old ones looked even uglier. Big and bulky and shabby. They leaned against the opposite wall, eyes open and unseeing.

 _Stop thinking stuff like that, idiot! Of course they can't see. They're robots._

On first glance, there was nothing wrong with them. He should have asked Scott what had happened. Vincent started out with Chica. She had always been the most scary one. He checked the joints, the wiring, he even took off some costume parts to see the endoskeleton as a whole. They were old, but much better cared for than the spring suits. A few spots were rusty, but nothing that might have caused a malfunction. Nothing. Same with Freddy and Bonnie.

He stepped back, frowning. "What the hell were they talking about?"

The A/C died away first. Then a low rumble went through the building as the lights went out.

"Oh, blast!", Vincent sighed and felt for his flashlight. The carabiner was empty. "Huh?" He could have sworn it had been there the whole time. Or had he put it down somewhere? The belt was really heavy, after all, and working in a bent-over position wasn't fun. He didn't dare to kneel, considering any pressure on his knee would mean accepting not excruciating, but a lot of pain.

The eyes of the animatronics lit up.

Vincent stumbled back in shock. He shouldn't have been able to see them in the darkness, but their eyes were glowing in a faint red light like hell fire.

"Are you ready for Freddy?", the bear's bass voice rumbled with the usual mechanical cheer. Metal squeaked as they got to their feet, one after the other. Vincent wasn't small, he was six feet two, but they towered over him like vengeful Gods. Behind him, he heard more mechanics come to life.

Vincent couldn't move. He was frozen, eyes wide open, his legs shaking so bad it was a miracle he was still standing. "N-No," he whimpered. This was impossible.

Somehow, he made a shivering step towards the door.  
"Where do you think you're going, friend?", Chica asked in her high, squeaky voice.

 _This is a dream, it's not real. They can't hurt me._

Hands wrapped around his arms from behind. A hook caught his shoulder, his arm suddenly resting in the metal curve.  
"Aye, laddie, ready to sail," Foxy growled into his ear.

 _N-No..._ Even his thoughts were stuttering. Twin glows everywhere around him, the soft sounds of moving mechanics he had always loved. Now it only terrified him.

A giant, violet paw closed around his throat.

Vincent shrieked and shot upright. For a second, he fought for balance, the chair hovering between tipping over and falling back in its place. The latter happened. Vincent looked around, panting. He was in the office, sitting in his chair.

The moment of relief only lasted for a second, until he could struggle free of the nightmare. It was dark. The office was not supposed to be dark.

Black eyes stared into his, with tiny white dots of light.

The puppet was hovering over him, almost parallel to the floor, the mask barely inches from him. There was a choked scream that came out as a tiny yelp. Vincent was almost sure that could not have been him. How could he speak if his body refused to continue breathing?

"I remember," the Puppet whispered. It had the child's voice again. A child with dark eyes and dark hair and a bright smile. The blue lines were its tears, spilled... about what?

"Do you? I never forget. Vincent." The voice whispered his name and it made his body grow cold. Shivers ran down his back, but he was still glued to the chair, unable to even move his hands. Never in his life had he been that afraid. He felt a tear run over his cheek.

"What do you want?!" He wanted to scream the question in the creature's face, but all that came out was a strained sob.

"You have to remember, Vincent," the creature whispered.

 _Remember what?!_

It whispered his name, over and over, coming closer. He couldn't move, couldn't escape. There were motors purring all around him. _Please, leave me alone. I didn't do anything. What do you want from me?_

The Puppet extended its left arm. It held something. A pink bow tie. Only it wasn't a bow tie. It was a ribbon, like little girls wore in their hair.

Vincent wanted to flinch, a cry building in his throat, but he couldn't. His shaking made the chair rattle, but he couldn't do anything else. The Puppet placed the ribbon on his leg. Its touch was icy, even through the fabric of his trousers. It dug an icicle into his thigh. The pain didn't mean anything, didn't snap him out of this hellish hallucination. That was the only thing it could be. Just another nightmare. This couldn't be real.

A heavy hand, metal coated in synthetic fur, settled on his shoulders with crushing strength. Four long fingers that usually held a guitar. They tightened with a small purr of the motor.

"It's me," it said.

Everything went black.

A heavy _thud_ , a loud bang and a burst of pain woke him.

Vincent lay on the floor, gasping. The ceiling lights flickered indifferently, stinging into his eyes.

When his pounding head allowed it, he sat up, groaning at the pain. He'd get quite the bump from that and more bruises. As if he didn't have enough of those already.

He was in the office. Again or still, it didn't really matter. He had fallen off the chair, shoving it against the wall. Vincent stumbled over to retrieve it and slumped into it once he was back at the desk. His legs weren't trustworthy right now.

The clock read 2:13 AM.

Taking slow, deliberate breaths, he tried to get himself to stop shaking and his racing heart to slow. It didn't work as well as it should have. It had just been another nightmare.

He rubbed his temple. What the hell was wrong with him? This was his second night! He hadn't had a nightmare since he was a teenager. Nothing of this caliber, at least.

"Fuck!", he mumbled and rested his head on his arms. His cheeks were wet with tears. He hadn't cried in years either. Last time had been when his cat died back in 1967. A few measures by his father had made clear that it was no fitting behavior for a man.

Just now he realized he had been clutching something in his hand all along. It took an effort to open his fingers. They were cramped so tightly the nails had dug into his palms and it was painful to remove them. The muscles quivered when they finally relaxed.

The ribbon fell onto the desk. The smooth pink fabric was crumpled and sweaty, but it was exactly the same ribbon. From yesterday. From his dream.

There was something running over his face.

The ribbon still right in front of him, Vincent buried his face in his arms and began to cry.

The fit didn't last long. He just had no strength left to freak out. He was terrified, and confused, and just wanted to be home and curl up in his bed with all lights on. For a few seconds, he even considered calling Scott. If he could wake him, his friend would surely have some sort of comfort to offer.

But what should Vincent say? "I've had a bad dream of the animatronics coming to kill me?"

Even Scott would probably laugh about that. Aside of that, Scott couldn't keep his mouth shut despite his best intentions. Vincent didn't want Jenna to hear he had called home in the middle of the night, whimpering over some stupid nightmare. He was a grown man, for God's sake!

He wiped his face and picked up the camera tablet.

Nothing. All rooms were empty. What had he expected?

His heart picked up a few paces when he reached the Prize Corner. Before he could think of an excuse, he flicked on the lights. An easy, normal task.

He barely managed to cover his mouth before his gasp developed into a scream. Instead he only got out a whimper.

The Puppet's box was closed, but the sacs of flour had fallen down on both sides, as if the box had been opened from the inside.

In a panicked motion, he slammed the tablet down. Not a chance he was going to go there now. Not before the sun came up. Vincent desperately fought to get his breathing under control again and raked through his already chaotic hair.

This was impossible.

"Am I going crazy? Is it that? Was Dad right after all?" He wasn't aware of talking aloud. His eyes were fixed on the ribbon. Why did he know it? From where?

" _A severe misdevelopment of emotions. Shows little to no affection. In reaction to horrifying pictures he didn't show any pity or even shock. Let's be frank, your son needs help. He could be potentially dangerous. He needs more contact with... the right kind of people."_

 _All the time Vincent had wanted to run in there and beat these lies out of the bastard that called himself a psychologist. This wasn't true. Of course he had been shocked at all the carnage they had shown him. He had cried when he was alone. But he couldn't show it to anyone. A man always kept his composure. And he had friends. He had Scott and Angelica. And just because Scott was the awkward kid, because he never landed with the girls... so what?_

"I'm not crazy," he whispered. "I'm not a psycho. That's not true!"

His Dad would have beaten the shit out of him if he had known his son had cried over a silly nightmare. But his father was at the other side of the country now. That was the main reason Vincent had come here in the first place. The other had been the promise he had given Scott in eighth grade. They would move out together and go far, far away, away from their old lives and all that was in it. Even if it meant leaving all other friends behind.

Vincent rubbed his face. The plaster came off again, this time with a few small violet hairs, but he ignored the pain. He had to find out what all this was about, or he would never get to rest. They would hunt him down. So far, they had only threatened him, but that could change.

This was real. It _had_ to be real. He was not crazy. He was not hallucinating.

Vincent checked the cameras once more, this time more interested in the storage. The toy animatronics hadn't moved at all, just like the Mangle in Kid's Cove. Which only left four animatronics and the Puppet. He was outnumbered. His only chance was to find out what they wanted and to be cleverer than them.

The small camera light illuminated only one wall. The new animatronics were out of sight, in the blind spot of the camera. He could only see the old ones.

And they had definitely moved.

Vincent clenched his jaw. He wouldn't panic again. A casual observer would not have noticed or simply doubted his memory. But he knew what he had seen. The little bastards were clever – they had sat down in exactly the same way they had been. Only that Bonnie and Chica had switched places. Had they made a mistake? Or was it a threat? When he had worked there...

Wait. Had he really been in the storage since yesterday? Or had it been a dream? He had woken up in his chair, after all, in the grasp of the Puppet and its mechanical helpers.

Vincent ran his fingers over his throat, searching for a mark of Bonnie's attack. There was nothing. But the dull ache in his right shoulder was very real.

Vincent opened the tie and the first buttons of the shirt. He had to twist his neck and eyes as far as he could to see anything, but the bruise was obvious. Three fingers to the front, the thumb at the back. He let the shirt slide into place again and put the tie back in its place with great care. Everything else wouldn't have been possible with hands shaking like his.

Somehow, it was calming that it was all real. It meant it was no hallucination. It was real, a real thing you could take measures against. He was not going crazy.

 _You have to remember_ , the Puppet had said. Remember what? The ribbon had to be important, maybe even the key. Maybe...

The idea was a clear and bright as a lightning strike. Vincent ripped opened the bottom drawer. How could he not have seen it? The answers were right under his nose.

The drawer was empty.

Vincent stared down at it. For a second, his exhausted and terrified brain couldn't process what he saw. He bent down and reached into the drawer. His fingers slid over slightly rough wood and reached the backside of the drawer. The newspaper clippings were gone.

Frustrated, Vincent kicked the drawer shut and leaned back, rubbing his aching shoulder. His knees had begun to throb again as well and he still had half his shift to go. Like hell he would go near these things in darkness again.

Three hours passed while he looked from the cameras to the locked door, jumping at every sound. When the first rays of the sun began to shine through the roof windows, he almost screamed in delight. Instead, he slumped back in the chair, the tension leaving his body like an air mattress sliced open.

What scared him most was that he had fallen asleep so suddenly. He hadn't been tired or sleepy at all. On the contrary, he had been wide awake, even nervous. He had just checked the cameras and then planned on going into the storage. The next moment, he had been in that nightmare.

It was that Puppet thing. There was no other explanation.

At quarter past five, he finally dared to go back into the Show Room, all the time resting his hands on the belt. It wasn't even a weapon, but at least it made him feel a little better. He returned the sacs of flour to the kitchen and reconnected the motors of the box. He didn't open it, though.

"Play your games all you want," he growled. "You won't intimidate me."

At six o'clock, the A/C powered up again and Vincent heard someone knocking on the door.

Vika was a small, voluminous lady in her mid-fifties, the hair dyed in a deep, artificial red. Scott's description was accurate, if the understatement of the month. Vika talked. A lot. She just started spilling out words as soon as she saw him. Most of it was some kind of Russian arranged around single English sentences. He understood about every fifth or sixth phrase, but Vika didn't seem to mind. She kept talking while she started to work and for some reason Vincent couldn't be annoyed by that. She just spread an aura of cheer that made the terror of this night seem far away.

He said goodbye after half an hour and retrieving his belongings, including the pink ribbon. Vika pulled him into a motherly hug against her large bosom, forcing him to bend down almost a foot, and promised to bring coffee next time. Slightly confused, Vincent thanked her and drove home.

Scott greeted him at the breakfast table, munching on a slice of toast with nutella. Seeing that, Vincent was suddenly more than glad he hadn't asked Jenna out for breakfast. She couldn't see him in this state. It was bad enough Scott knew something was off. He didn't say anything, but Vincent knew what the small line between his eyes meant.

After a shower, he went to bed, just to find himself staring at the ceiling in the dim room. His door was tightly locked, but even that reassurance didn't let him sleep.

The newspaper articles were his first and only clue. He couldn't remember any details, but he remembered there had been something. Just a detail he had overlooked because he hadn't known better, and that kept tugging at him. Now they were gone.

1970 was quite a while back, but...

He swung his legs out of bed again and wavered for a moment before reclaiming his balance to walk to the door. Luckily, Scott was still home. "Do you know-" Scott winced and dropped the knife he'd been drying. It dug into the linoleum floor an inch from his foot.

"Jesus, Vince, don't do that!", he gasped. "I thought you were sleeping."

"Sorry. Do you know if there's a newspaper archive in town?"

Scott picked up the knife again. "There should be. Either in the library or town hall. I'd try the library. Why?"

"Oh, just something I heard..."

"Is it about the murder in 1970?"

Vincent blinked at him. Even he easily forgot how damn smart Scott actually was. He had a great memory of places, people and events and was way more perceptive than it seemed. He was just very, very awkward. "How do you get that idea?"

Scott shrugged his shoulders and went back to drying off the dishes. After a moment, Vincent joined him. "I knew you'd find out about it eventually. Pretty scary that we were there and didn't even know, huh? I'm pretty sure there's an archive in the library." He took the plate out of Vincent's hand. "Get some sleep. I'll see you this evening, right?"

"Yeah." Housewife. Seriously. Vincent yawned and crawled back into bed after locking the door behind him. Scott could impossibly miss that. Hopefully he didn't take it the wrong way. Then again, should he. Why was he so close to Jenna, anyway? She hadn't hugged anyone except her brother – and Scott.

Vincent turned around once more, relieving the pressure on his aching shoulder. For now his only concern should be to save his ass from these things. The archive would give him answers. With that thought, he managed to fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 3

I completely forgot I didn't upload the new chapter here. Well, damn it.

Aaanyway, her you go. Things are picking up speed, I promise!

Fave, follow, comment, maybe check out my artwork at dA (Cedidit), which is more for the idea of a chacter than my drawing skills. Thanks!

* * *

He woke up late. Vincent dressed and unlocked his door. The flat was quiet and filled with hot, humid air. He'd lived in this city for seven years now and he had no idea whether there was a library, or where it might be. They had always used the college library if they needed anything, considering it was free for students.

Caring as he was, Scott had laid out a map on the kitchen table, marking the library with a pen.

"Thanks," Vincent murmured. It wasn't far. Technically, he could even walk. But his aching knees told him that was probably not a good idea. So he drove the short way.

The library was small, two stories high, located in an ancient building that could need some updating. Then again, all buildings in this area looked like that.

The woman at the counter was in her mid-fifties and about the same type as Vika, with even more rolls in various unfitting places. Her brown hair was in a bun, streaked with gray, and she had more lines on her face than were normal for her age. But her eyes were awake and lit up at the sight of him, not just for the joy of having a customer. There was nobody else around, not even steps could be heard in the echoing rooms.

"Hello," she said brightly, and her voice was that of a younger woman. She looked him over and Vincent smiled at her in his best college-student-grin, that made him look younger than he was. He should have shaved.

"Good evening..." He read the name tag, that wobbled on what was behind it. "Hilda."

She smiled happily, her eyes running over his body. "How can I help you?"

Despite the pain, Vincent tried to straighten up while not looking too stiff. "I'm looking for newspapers from August 1970. He leaned on the counter with a charming smile. Hilda blushed a little. Surprisingly, her perfume, despite being somewhat piercing, reminded him of Jenna. She smelled of roses.

"We have the newspapers on microfiche in the basement. I'll bring you there." She rose from her chair, making it squeak miserably, grabbed a key, and then waddled around the counter. The entrance to the basement was to the far left, a rusty iron door. The angles shrieked in protest when Hilda forced the door open, leading into a dusty staircase spiraling down.

"This was a bomb shelter once. Not sure why they changed the usage. I don't trust those Russians," Hilda said categorically. She didn't seem to expect an answer, so Vincent didn't give one.

With every step they took, the temperature seemed to drop by two degrees until it was pleasantly cool. The basement was basically the same as any spooky basement: Dirty brick walls and wooden beams, spiderwebs everywhere, illuminated by bare light bulbs that didn't do much to ward away the gloom. There were different compartments separated by rusting iron fences, filled with equally rusty metal shelves. The boxes were coated in an inch of dust and yellowed with age. They had to stand here for an eternity.

"Strange, " Hilda said. "Years after years, nobody is interested into this place. I only come down here when there's a new box to add. And now you're the third person in a month. And all for the same newspapers, too."

Vincent listened up. "Who else was here?"

"One was a reporter for the Gazette- Oh, you're not from the news, are you?" Her voice jumped three octaves higher in excitement, as if she was ready to be interviewed right now.

"Just checking on an old story," Vincent answered vaguely. She couldn't turn around, but he still smiled. If only it was so easy with every woman. He always knew how to play people, a talent born from the sheer necessity of protecting himself and his friends. But with Jenna, all this well-trained ability was suddenly locked behind a wall of steel, and he was a stammering idiot, too hesitant to speak his thoughts and wishes aloud.

Hilda stopped at the second last compartment and unlocked the door. It was merely for formality's sake – the lock was so rusty it would break if it was used a few more times. Hilda pulled out a box that was not as old as the ones in the beginning and only had a thin film of dust on top. There were marks of fingers on it, not yet covered up by a new layer.

"Who was the other one?", Vincent repeated patiently. He took the box from Hilda and carried it to the table in the corner, where a single microfiche reader slowly drowned in dust. The device itself had been dusted off not so long ago.

"Oh, an elderly gentleman, slim, with short hair. Really nice eyes, a just a bit in a hurry." She sighed, lost in memory of an idolized encounter. "Copies are ten cents each. You know how it works?" He nodded. She patted his shoulder. "Do you need anything else, a coffee maybe? You look a little tired."

"No thanks."

She gave him a last longing look, then waddled away, back to her boring librarian's life and her lost dreams. Actually, Vincent mused, they were not so different. She had lost the race against time and was stuck with her shattered hopes, alone, refusing to admit her defeat and the fact that she needed to lose a few pounds. Maybe she had a cat or dog, who knew.

He had a PhD in engineering, but worked as a night guard in a run-down pizzeria, he couldn't talk to the woman he fell in love with and had exactly one real friend. Additionally, some supernatural whatever and the animatronics were trying to kill him over something he had obviously forgotten, and he felt like he was going insane.

What cheery thoughts.

The reporter had written the new article he had seen among the clippings. The "elderly gentleman" could only have been Adrian. That explained why the clippings had been in the drawers. It didn't explain why Adrian had gotten them.

Freddy's had opened in 1983, one and a half year after the original restaurant, Fredbear's Family Diner, had closed due to the unproved accusations the tabloids spread throughout the country. Adrian had been hired as the manager. Or at least Scott didn't know if there had been someone else. And Scott knew everything about this restaurant. It would descend into chaos should he ever leave. He was so talented, but didn't use it. At this rate, he would forever be stuck as an underpaid employee, if he didn't get a heart attack. He would certainly never get anywhere.

The box was filled with rows and rows of microfiche, without any indication which ones were those he needed. They were sorted by date and newspaper, nothing more. The murder had been on the... thirteenth? He was pretty sure it had been.

He took out the first microfiche and got lucky. It was the first article he had seen among the clippings.

 **Child found murdered in front of Fazbear's Family Diner**

He scanned over it again, but there was nothing in it he didn't already know. Alex Radkowski, ten years old. Well-respected family, thoroughly integrated, really nice people. Her parents hadn't missed her, assuming she was having a sleepover with her friends, until the police showed up.

The tabloids merely competed for the saddest or most gory stories as the investigation stuttered and finally came to a halt. They dug up information about the family, things that should never be published without consent, but were anyway.

Her birth name had been Aleksandra, but her parents had anglicized it when they came to the USA with their three-year-old daughter. They were both workers, and Alex had originally been documented as a male. However the paper had gotten that out. Maybe it was just fiction but they quoted the parents: "A son has better chances at finding work, finding a place to stay. In the old countries, girls have to stay home and be obedient. We wanted her to be free." But seeing the culture in the USA, they somehow changed their mind.

The story was so strange, it was probably bullshit.

The tabloids had continued printing, even when the investigation didn't turn up anything new. When that didn't do anything but embarrass the Radkowskis to a point they sued the papers – and obviously got quite the profit of it – they searched for a better victim: Fredbear's Family Diner. Despite a police report stating that the murder had probably been committed by a traveler, making it next to impossible to find him, they began suspecting the staff, even the owner, putting each of them into a cruel spotlight.

Most of them had moved away after a while, Vincent remembered from the follow-up article.

Finally, in an issue published on September 2nd, he finally found what he was looking for.

A clear photograph of Alex.

The story about the false gender suddenly didn't seem so unlikely anymore.

Alex had been a slim girl, tall, with dark locks standing in all directions. The eyes were narrow, with short lashes, and completely black in the photograph. In real life they must have been dark brown. She had thin lips and a sharply cut chin. If he hadn't known better, Vincent would have guessed it was a boy. Hell, he had looked like that when he was ten, minus the curly hair. She had a beautiful smile, even for a little girl.

There was a ribbon placed on her head, like a statement. Vincent's hand wandered to his pocket all by itself. He pulled the ribbon out. It was crumpled, and old, and dirty now, but it was the same. He didn't need to see the photograph in color to know it was Alex' ribbon.

How did the ribbon of a girl that was murdered eight years ago appear in the pizzeria named after the crime scene?

There was another photograph, some kind of family picture, but the print was too small and blurry to see anything distinct. Five persons, with Alex in front, her parents behind her. Maybe the other two were her grandparents or whatever.

Vincent printed the articles, even the tabloids, and wondered what his next step would be. This had merely confirmed his theory. The ribbon belonged to the little girl. But what did that tell him?

He gave Hilda one last charming smile on his way out.  
"Come back whenever you need something, sweetheart," she called after him.

Outside, he stretched, enjoying the warm glow of the setting sun on his body. He definitely didn't get enough of that. Somewhere in the city, the bell tower rang eight o'clock.

So late already. Vincent got to his car and drove home to change clothes. Technically, he didn't have to be there that early. But he had nothing better to do and Jenna would probably be in. Scott had had all day to talk to her.

Vincent stopped in the door of his bedroom, pondering. Maybe he wouldn't ask her out just yet. If the night went down like the last ones, he couldn't show himself to her in the morning.

Dressed in his uniform, he packed. He still had no idea how to ward off the Puppet and its helpers. They would probably not kill him until they thought he remembered. But who knew when that would be? He couldn't take chances. The last two nights had already been enough.

His only clue was Aleksandra Radkowski. He had a strange thought: Maybe her ghost was still there. He wasn't sure what it might want from him, but the least he could do was find out more.

He remembered the name of the journalist that had written the newest article and he was fairly sure he still knew which paper it had been.

He stopped at a phone booth on the way. The book was more or less complete. Today seemed to be his lucky day. The secretary connected him after he had convinced her with a few gentle words he was not a salesman and in fact looking for Mr. Elias Pierce because of a recent article.

There were very few such calls, the woman told him. She sounded young, maybe his age or younger. But her voice was a little too rough for his taste, too shrill.

He landed in a waiting line, but not for long. Pierce had a trained, pleasant voice, used to asking questions. "Hello?"

"Good evening. My name is Vincent de Briss. I'm calling because of the article you did about the murder of Alex Radkowski."

There was a pause. "You're not here to tell me what a jerk I am to dig that up again, are you?"

Vincent blinked. "No."

"Good. I had enough calls of those already. Some idiot gave away my office number. What do you want to know?"

Vincent had to put in another quarter before the call cut off. "I read the articles from back then, but I'm interested what happened after. Any new clues that were never published and so on. And I'd like to know if the Radkowski family still lives here."

"To your first question, there's nothing I didn't put in my article. I looked a bit into the new restaurant, but that's about it. The forensics got a few things, but nothing they could use to nail anyone down. As to the Radkowskis, they refused to talk to me, but maybe you got more luck. Harris Street 65."

"Thank you."

"Hey, now I've told you pretty much everything, without even asking. Why are you interested in that anyway?"

"Oh, that's because..." Vincent paused. Why was he interested, except that he needed to know what the hell was happening in his night shift. "I'm not even sure. Just caught my eye, I guess. The city is pretty calm otherwise."

Pierce snorted a laugh. "Not anymore, mate. Drug dealers in the north, gang wars in the south, this city's going to go down. Anyway, I hear you're on a payphone, so I don't want to waste your money. Any more questions?"

"Does Alex have more relatives in the states? Siblings, maybe, or cousins?"

"Not that I know. Mrs. Radkowski is too old to have any more kids, and after the death of their daughter I don't think, you know, they were in the mood. Hey, we can meet up and discuss this if you want. You're the first person whose reaction was not 'How could you pain them with that?'. As if these people are ever going to forget they lost their daughter to some psycho."

"Sounds good." Vincent gave him the office number of Freddy Fazbear's he found in his uniform pocket. "I'm in the night shift, so over the day just leave a message for me."

"Sure. What was the name again?" Vincent repeated it and spelled out his last name, just to be sure, then they hung up. Now he had an address, but what did that help him? He couldn't just show up at their door. It was half past eight, and he wouldn't be exactly thrilled to be disturbed at this time of day, especially with the questions he had. But he had not other choice. He still needed a key to this secret.

Then again, he really wanted to see Jenna.

In the end, he simply looked up the phone number of the Radkowskis. The phone got picked up after the first ring. The man had a booming voice with a thick Eastern accent, but otherwise his English was perfect. Vincent introduced himself politely, then told him what he wanted. He had half expected for Mr. Radkowski to slam the phone down immediately, but there was only a long pause.

"Are you with the newspapers?"

Vincent said he was not. It was a personal interest. He wanted to understand what had happened to Alex. He wasn't a detective, but maybe he found out something after all.

Mr. Radkowski sighed heavily. He didn't sound angry. Just sad. "If you want we can meet. Harris Street 65. You're lucky you caught us now, Mr. De Briss." He put both words in one, stretching the I until it sounded like _breeze_. "We're moving away. This city has not brought us any luck."

They decided to meet at seven the next evening and hung up. _Let's hope I'm still alive then_ , Vincent thought while walking back to his car. The thought was only half sarcastic.

He put on the seat belt before backing out of the parking lot. Scott had lectured him about that about three times already, after seeing a report about car crashes. Vincent forgot it more often than not, but he wasn't exactly in the mood to get another lecture.

He drove to Freddy's on the other side of town and was promptly greeted by a black-haired boy dashing in front of his car. Vincent slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched as he slithered forwards on the hot asphalt. The boy came ever closer. He stared at the approaching car with wide eyes, frozen in mid-motion. Vincent's last thought before the impact was: _Oh God no._

With one last protesting squeal, the old Ford Corsair came to an halt and Vincent's forehead hit the sun visor. The seat belt locked and the abrupt stop sent a bolt of pain through his ribs, forcing the air out of his lungs.

He stood. The headlights of the car had stopped barely a foot from the boy.

Before Vincent could do anything else than forcing himself to breathe again, the door of the restaurant slammed open and a teenage girl ran out.

"Ethan!", the girl shrieked. The boy winced and spun. When the girl threw her arms around him, his shock seemed to wear off in the matter of seconds. His lips began to tremble and then he started to cry. Loudly.

Vincent shut off the motor and leaned back, sweat rolling over his face. The kid's blaring already scratched at his nerves.

Someone opened the door. "Are you okay, Si- Oh." He looked up, squinting against the bright light. That was what he hated most about summer, even more than the heat. It was way too bright.

Jenna bent down to him with a shaky smile, her face finally becoming visible. "Hi."

"Hi," he got out. All plans, everything he had carefully prepared to say was gone, vanished in a thick bank of fog in his brain. "How are you?"

She gave him an absent smile, her eyes shooting over to the little boy more often than not. "The question is if you're fine. You didn't get hurt?"

"No, I'm good." He cleared his throat. "What happened?"

"Ethan had a panic attack and ran away. You sure you're fine? That was a great reaction you showed."

"I'm fine," he promised. The girl had picked up the crying child and carried him back to the entrance. To his surprise, Vincent realized the girl was Molly. Only today she was wearing a plain white skirt down to her knees and an airy, but decent blue top, her black hair in two braids. She looked like a completely different person.

He scanned the parking lot, but everything he could see was already full. Freddy's had to be hell right now. Jenna threw a glance back and a small, mischievous smile appeared on her face.

"You know, there's another lot out back. I'll show you, okay?"

She hurried around the car and jumped on the passenger seat. Vincent started the engine again and she lead him around the building to a spot in the shadows, overgrown with dried grass.

"Thank God," Jenna sighed and leaned back. When she closed her eyes, Vincent had more than enough time to admire her slender body, the long legs and tanned skin. He never tanned, no matter what. He got a sunburn and went straight back to white afterwards.

"Is the kid always like that?", he asked, just to keep the conversation going.

"Not always", Jenna said. She adjusted her position on the seat to look at him. "Usually Danny or Scott can calm him. They are the only employees he trusts when he's having an episode. But Danny's still home and Scott wasn't there in time." She sighed. It sounded like she wanted to say something else, but didn't. She just stared at the roof of the car and crossed her arms.

"How is Danny?"

"He'll be fine. Adrian gave him the rest of the week off. Speaking of which, is there another night guard besides you? Doesn't really make sense to leave the building without a guard at some days, right?"

He hadn't thought about it, but she was right. Actually, he was scheduled from Monday to Friday, not the weekends. Freddy's was closed on Sunday anyway, but that didn't mean anything for possible burglars.

"I have no idea. Didn't even think about it, to be honest," he admitted. Jenna smiled. She looked much more tired than he had seen her so far. It was strange – they only knew each other for two days and he was already so fond of her. Jealous of anyone near her, even.

"The summer holidays are over next week," she said. The thought hadn't even occurred to him yet, but all of a sudden the date filled him with horror. That meant...

"Are you going to keep working?"

"When I can spare the time. I don't want to depend on Danny forever, you know."

Vincent made an affirmative noise, unsure what to say. He wouldn't get to see her anymore when she went back to college.

"How are your knees?"

"Fine," he said hastily.

Jenna smiled. "Wow, why so grumpy all of a sudden? Not because I leave, right?"

He lowered his eyes, which was the biggest Yes he could have given. Screw this. "Well, you know... I mean, I understand you don't want to stay in this place forever. It's just... just... I..."

 _I love you._

Somebody knocked on the window. They both jumped, Jenna even let out a tiny squeak. Adrian opened the passenger door.

"I don't want to interrupt your little chat, but I think Jenna's shift isn't over yet." His voice was strict, but there was a sparkle of amusement in his piercing eyes. Vincent opened his seat belt with hands shaking in rage. Goddamn bastard. He wanted to

 _kill him._

What had he done to deserve this? Every time he tried to say anything important, they got interrupted.

Maybe that wouldn't happen if he stopped stuttering and beating around the bush.

"You coming?", Jenna asked, watching as Adrian already crossed the parking lot again, heading for the back entrance. He waved at them impatiently. Vincent got out and locked his car to catch up to Jenna.

"You were saying?", she asked.

He sighed. "Nothing. It's not important."

Despite the late hour, the place was packed, now mostly with teenagers. Ethan and Molly sat on the carousel, Ethan snuggled up on his sister's lap while Scott sat on the floor and talked to them. However he managed it, he actually found time to do such little things.

Automatically, Vincent scanned the customers for the little brat that had annoyed him twice already, but she was nowhere to be seen. Good.

They weren't standing still for three seconds yet, when a little girl with red pigtails walked up to them, casting shy glances around. "Miss Jenna?", she squeaked in her high-pitched voice, clutching her Spring Bonnie plushy.

"Malory," Jenna said and bent down to hear her better. "What's wrong?"

Over the noise, Vincent didn't hear what the little girl with the brown pigtails said, but she pointed in the direction of the Prize Counter. When they followed her outstretched finger, there were two boys, in their teens, about to break into a brawl. So far, they were just yelling at each other, but even that was a considerable bother to the customers. Now that he knew they were there, Vincent could easily pick out their voices and they annoyed him from the first second.

"Wait here, darling," Jenna said to the little girl, Malory, and straightened up. "Vincent, can you help me? That's not the first time they've been making trouble. Your knees are okay, right?"

There was still a faint throbbing, but he could ignore that. "Yes."

They walked up to the two boys. Except for some twelve-year-olds and their friends, the customers had largely left the area. Some smaller kids were hovering in the distance, observing the events with an equal amount of fear and curiosity.

"Is there a problem?", Jenna asked politely.

The boys turned to them and some of the younger ones in the background used that opportunity to get away. Vincent followed them with his gaze for a moment, wondering what the hell these kids thought they were doing. Then he directed his attention back to the two boys. Both were around fifteen, tall and sporty. The left one had short red hair and his face full of freckles, the other one had black hair and skin darkened by hours in the sun.

"This pale-faced asshole insulted my sister!", the right boy snapped.

"That's not true!", the red-headed boy shouted back. "I said I like her!"

"You touch her, I'll fucking-" He raised a fist and charged, about to punch the redheaded boy, who couldn't take that and was preparing to make a move of his own.

Jenna pulled the redhead out of the way, locking his arms behind his back in a professional-looking wrestler's grip. The child struggled, but only hurt himself in the process. Jenna was strong.

The other one was carried past them and stumbled. He spun and set to attack again like a raging bull, fist drawn back to hit the immobilized redhead. He didn't pay attention to Jenna whatsoever. Maybe he just didn't care.

Vincent stepped in the way and grabbed the attacking boy's arm. The boy was tall for a brat like that, but Vincent was still stronger. The jerk made him waver, his knees protesting, but it also pulled the boy off course. He stumbled along an invisible semi-circle, his arm suddenly behind his back. Vincent turned with him before he broke the boy's arm on accident. Which didn't mean the move didn't hurt. The boy fell to his knees with a whimper and Vincent released him. The whole episode had taken less than five seconds.

The boy looked up at him with wide eyes swimming with tears. He seemed to see something he didn't like, because he stumbled to his feet, clutching his arm.  
"I- I'm sorry, Sir. And Miss. Hey Maurice, can we... I think we can talk about this. Outside, you know. Like grown-ups."

The redhead stared at him, but then he nodded hastily. "Sure, no problem."

Jenna looked at them for a second and released him. The boy shook his shoulders and joined his friend, rival, whatever he was.

"And don't forget to pay," Vincent said quietly. They stared at him with wide eyes and left as fast as they could. Customers watched them, unsure how to react.

Malory was the first one to come back to play. "Thank you, Miss Jenna. Thank you, Mr..."

He smiled at her. "Vincent." See, kids could be relatively nice.

The girl nodded and went on to Puppet's box. Vincent could really miss out on seeing that thing again. Luckily, Jenna stopped beside him and looked over the giant room. Scott and the Jenssen siblings were gone from the Game area, Vincent noticed.

" _And don't forget to pay_ ," Jenna imitated him, laughing. "I never thought you could look that menacing."

"Did I?", he asked. Was that a compliment? Or was she... well, not scared, but creeped out?

"You look way too nice for that." She paused. "That was a really good move. Where did you learn that?"

"School." He didn't look, but he could almost feel her raise her eyebrows. "TV," he corrected. "I just practiced it in school, so to say."

"Not the popular kid, I take it?"

He shook his head.

No. Not him. Not the creep. Not the one that had dissected a dead cat in elementary school because he was curious what was inside. The kid that was the least able to hide the bruises he brought to school. The albino kid. The kid that got suspended for the first week of high school until he had a medical certificate proving his hair color was natural and not some stupid try to evade the school rules. The kid teachers told he should think about maybe dying his hair, just to fit in better. From that day on, he had been the freak, the martian, the albino or simply "Purple". The latter name was what stuck for most of the time. Everybody knew who he was. He dyed his hair once, in a middle brown color. The teasing didn't stop, only got worse. So he let his hair grow, cutting off the brown parts again. When he left high school and he and Scott moved as far away as they could, his hair had already gotten long enough for a ponytail.

Much earlier, he begun practicing to defend himself. In the end, he was still the psycho, but at least nobody dared to mess with him. He could protect those who couldn't do it themselves. Angie and Scott, some other misfits.

He couldn't save them from themselves, though.

"Vincent?" He was harshly drawn back into reality, the picture of Angie's pale arms tainted red still in front of his eyes. Jenna touched his hand, her blue eyes fixed on his face, a worried little line between them. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He needed a second to order his brain. "Just... old memories. Nothing important."

"You said that a lot so far," Jenna said, the line between her brows deepening. "Just say what you want to say. I don't bite."

He had to laugh. It almost felt as genuine as it sounded. "I was just daydreaming. Sorry."

Jenna didn't look convinced, but didn't push him. And then the next small emergency happened and they ran off.

It was not part of his shift, but somehow, Vincent still enjoyed the thirty minutes he spent taming these annoying brats and their older counterparts. He was spending time with his Jenna, after all. Though she was not his. Yet.

Eventually, the last customer had finally left. Instead, Pete came in. He looked at them even less than usual, keeping his head down, and began to sweep the floor near the Show Stage without a word. Scott shot him a confused glance when he back came from the Main Hall and joined Jenna and Vincent in the door to the Entrance Hall.  
"What's wrong with him?"

"No idea," Jenna said, watching Pete eagerly swipe around every part of the area he didn't have to come close to anyone.

Scott rubbed his neck. The sunburn had turned into a dark stripe just above his collar, which obviously itched like hell. "Thanks for fixing the animatronics, Vince. Guess it wasn't as bad as we thought."

Vincent blinked at him. After the nightmare he hadn't touched the animatronics, not counting Bonnie's hand almost crushing his shoulder. "Ah, yes, uh... no problem. The wiring loosened, that's all."

Scott nodded. "You really saved us. Besides, can you maybe take a look at the spring lock suits some time?" He winced at his friend's flashing eyes. "They're too dangerous for the suit mode, but, uh, they're still animatronics, you know?", he explained hastily. "We could, uh, use them like the others, get a varying show program until the, uh, toy versions are ready."

Jenna looked to and fro between them. "Okay, I take back what I said. You're really good at giving someone dirty looks."

Although his face remained unchanged, even broke into a little smile, Vincent felt a surge of anger and desperation at these words. Of course, everybody liked the gentle, pretty people. Rage and darkness didn't fit their image of a person they wanted to spend time with, even if these emotions were focused on protecting them.

Scott, tactless as ever, interrupted them. "Jen, do me a favor, check on Party Room one and two. They weren't occupied today, but maybe someone got lost."

She grimaced. "Oh yeah, I remember when that happened last." With a brief wave of her hand, she jogged off, all quiet grace and tight muscles.

 _Jen? JEN?_

Vincent's voice was steady and calm. "She's gonna leave next week?"

"Switches to part-time," Scott confirmed. "I guess we have to look for someone else in the meanwhile. Damn it. I really like her, you know?"

"Do you?"

Scott must have heard something in his voice, because he took a step back. "Vince, are you okay? Your knees hurting?"

He was about to ask how he knew that, but didn't. Probably Molly or one of the cooks had gossiped. It didn't matter. "No. I'm fine."

"You don't sound-" Scott cut himself off and took another step back. Vincent wondered what he saw in his eyes. All he felt was a faint throbbing in his fists. Scott had always been the perfect victim. He loved talking, he was intelligent, but he was also awkward and not exactly fit. Vincent had always protected him and in return, he bore with every mood. Which might make him the bravest person Vincent knew.

Scott frowned at him and straightened up to his full five feet three. "Is this about Jenna?" Vincent's gaze made him obviously nervous, but he stood his ground. Until he was slammed against the next wall, that was. A faintly pig-like squeak escaped his mouth, only fueling the rage coursing through Vincent's blood. How did he _dare_? How did he dare to even _think_ of laying his hands, damn it, his eyes on Jenna! This ridiculous idiot, with his constant cheer and stammering.

 _He's weak. You can easily get rid of him._

"Stay away from her," Vincent hissed.

Scott stared at him, his eyes wide enough to see the white all around the irises. All color had left his face. "V-Vince, what the hell-" Vincent tightened his grip around Scott's arms until the smaller man whimpered in pain. He shook him like a dog a rabbit. It was easy.

"Vincent, please," Scott begged. There were tears in his eyes. "I'm not trying to steal her from you, I swear it!"

Vincent shook him once more before he loosened his grip a bit, but didn't let go. Scott was whimpering like a scared kitten. What a joke. He wasn't even half a man. And someone like that thought he had a chance with his beautiful, strong Jenna? Please. How would she even consider that?

His eyes flickered downwards for a second and he did a double take. His fingers had dug so hard into Scott's arms that the flesh had deep dents, a sickly white, surrounded by red. Blood ran over the pale skin, ripped by his fingernails.

Vincent stepped back and let go. The anger he had felt was gone, replaced by shock. His vision flickered for a second before focusing on Scott. He hadn't moved an inch, just staring at Vincent in terror, his back pressed against the wall as if he wanted to pass right through it. Tears were streaking his cheeks.

"Scott-" A wave of horror washed over him. What had he done?

"Excuse me for a second," Scott got out and hurried away. He swerved around Vincent in a wide circle, out of reach, his steps shaky enough that he could fall anytime. He didn't fall. He was too scared for that.

The moment Scott vanished through the door, Vincent's legs gave way and he knelt on the floor. He felt the impact in his knees, but he didn't care. On the contrary, the pain told him he was himself again. That was good.

Vincent stared down at his bloody fingertips. He only vaguely noticed the dull ache in the muscles of his hands. The world became a blur of colors, and it took him a while to realize it was not just because he was shaking all over.

He didn't know how much time passed. He couldn't even remember why he had reacted like that. Scott was his best friend. Not in a dream he would have considered threatening, or even hurting him. All because of a girl he had known for three days, who didn't even know he liked her, and who would vanish from his life soon, not bothering to think back?

 _Weakling._

Vincent gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tight. _Leave me alone._

 _Oh, but how will you get anywhere without me?_

He needed three attempts to grab something he could hold on to before pulling himself to his feet. When he did, it was quick. _No._

Pete had vanished to somewhere. Hopefully somewhere he hadn't seen this. His knees ached, but he welcomed the pain as a fitting punishment. Vincent quickened his steps, wiping at his eyes as he walked.

As he had expected, Scott was in the men's bathroom, carefully pressing a paper towel on his bleeding arm. Nails were no sharp tools. This had to be agonizing.

Scott jumped to his feet and stumbled back against the wall when he heard the door. "V-Vincent," he stuttered. The paper towel fluttered to the floor, dirty white stained with red.

Vincent waited until the door had fallen shut. He was about to lean against it, but then he realized that had to look menacing. So instead, he just stood in the middle of the room. Scott didn't move, keeping as much distance between them as he could.

"Scott, I'm sorry."

His friend didn't move, just looked at him. His puppy eyes were red, but he had wiped away the tears. And he didn't believe a word Vincent said.

They had been friends since kindergarten. One moment of losing control had destroyed all that. And he wasn't even sure why and how it could have happened. He was over that for good. He thought he had it under control.

"I- I don't know what got into me." He stared into nothingness for a second. The regret he felt was genuine, but it seemed as if it was too weak a feeling for what he had done. "Please forgive me."

Scott gulped and drew an audible breath. "W-We'll see." Getting out the next words seemed to be a strain. "Can you help me with that?"

Vincent was glad to. He cleaned the cuts and wrapped a bandage around each arm. There were already traces of dark bruises developing, shaped like hands. But the gesture didn't have the effect he had hoped for. Scott flinched at every unexpected movement and the gloomy silence gnawed at his nerves. Eventually, he stepped back, giving Scott a bit of space.

"There's a long-sleeved shirt in the Safe Room," Vincent proposed. "I can get it if you want."

Scott nodded slowly. Vincent brought it and then left Scott alone to change his clothes. Waiting outside, he had a depressing realization. His best friend didn't dare turn his back on him.

Eventually, Scott called him in again. He was standing at the other end of the room again, shuffling his feet nervously. Vincent stayed at the door.

"Something else?", he asked, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

"What I said, uh, that was true," Scott mumbled. He didn't look up. "Jenna is all yours. She not really, uh... my type."

Vincent wasn't sure what to say to that. It was a relief, sure, but the rational part of his mind had always known Scott was no rival. In eighth grade, Tiffany Marsten flashed the whole class when she tripped in a badly sewn skirt. The girls broke into giggles and the majority of the boys began to drool like Pavlov's dogs. Scott simply frowned and looked embarrassed for his classmate.

Angie had been the first one to ask Vincent about it, because she didn't dare to go to Scott directly. Vincent had shrugged his shoulders and said that was Scott's business. It was obvious if you knew him. And they knew him perfectly. Only Scott himself didn't seem to notice that.

"Just... so you know," he added quietly.

Vincent shrugged his shoulders. "Sure. Okay."

For a second, Scott seemed like he wanted to say something else, but in the end they just left in awkward silence. Vincent went out first, Scott kept his distance.

Pete had left a note, saying he had finished his part and went home. Jenna seemed a little confused when she saw them, but didn't ask. She hugged Scott, a small line appearing between her eyebrows. Scott didn't look like he enjoyed the simple gesture and his movements were stiff with pain.

Adrian had already gone home, Jenna said, looking to and fro between them. Something about his granddaughter.

Vincent avoided Jenna's gaze when he told her to have a good night and soon he was all alone in the giant building.

He didn't think trying to lock Puppet in again would help him, but he did it anyway and also locked every door he could, including Kid's Cove and the Storage. With a lot of luck, they might not want to break down the doors to get to him. Then he sat down in the office and tried to stay calm. At 12 AM the lights went out except for his room. At half past 12 the scratching in the storage started. Vincent couldn't take it for long until he forced himself to look at the camera. He almost dropped the tablet.

Black eyes were staring right at him. Vincent clenched his jaw, took a shaking breath and tried to ignore the scared part of his brain that insisted on getting the hell out of there while he still could. Instead, he scanned the image for anything useful. The light illuminated Freddy's worn-down costume, not much else. There was movement behind him. They were trying to open the door.

Vincent had locked it three times and blocked it with a table, but he wasn't sure if that would keep them in for long.

 _Don't panic_. He checked on Puppet's box. The sac was still in place. Good.

Something crashed against the door to the Storage Room. Vincent jumped to his feet, but what could he possibly do? He had to be smarter. He had to solve this puzzle in whatever time he had left.

Alex Radkowski's ghost was in the Puppet. That much he knew. Vincent had never been religious or superstitious, but it was the only thing that remotely made sense. Actually, from a rational, scientific point of view it didn't, but he knew what he had seen and had the bruises to prove it. Even eliminating every other possible source, that hand print on his shoulder could not easily be explained away.

Sitting in this chair wouldn't help him. It just meant he was trapped deep inside this building.

 _Luck favors the brave_ , he thought, a helpless smile crossing his face, if only for a second.

 _Death favors the stupid._ Vincent grabbed his flashlight, ignoring the deeper voice, and left the office and the lights behind. The small beam washed over polished floor, ridiculous posters and pizza-imitations. This place was the incarnation of child lunacy.

Where ever he looked, the eyes followed him, an evil grin on their robot faces. Even the drawings didn't seem all that friendly anymore. Vincent was glad to have closed all doors before the lights went out. There was no logical possibility anything could hide in there, but it did a lot to calm his nerves. What in this whole damn business made sense, anyway?

He stopped in the middle of the Show Room. Funny. That was the spot her had encountered the Puppet two times so far. This time it would be on his conditions.

"Alex," he called. The sound was fairly loud, but ended in a high-pitched wheezing. He cleared his throat, straightened up a bit more and called her name again. "Alex Radowski."

The table in front of the Storage Room screeched as it moved. Vincent spun, the beam of the flashlight dancing wildly until it focused on the doors. Nothing.

The doors. He could lock them. It couldn't keep them out for eternity, but...

The Puppet was right behind him. He could feel it as well as he could feel his body slowly growing cold as something took the control from him. It was an awful feeling, but for the first time since this whole craziness started, he wasn't simply afraid. It made him angry. His body was his. Nobody had the right to take this from him!

Vincent turned around. The Puppet was floating in front of him, more or less on eye level. Tiny white dots of light flickered in the mask's holes. Vincent didn't look away or tried to flee. He wouldn't become a slave to his fear.

"Alex," he said. "I know who you are. And I know what happened."

The Puppet titled its head. It was listening.

"You were murdered in front of Fredbear's Family Diner, eight years ago. You were ten years old."

He couldn't be sure, but the lights seemed to flicker a little, and a wave of sadness hit him. It wasn't his emotion, but none the less powerful. It brought tears in his eyes.

"What do you want from me?", he asked. "I will find out who killed you, if its that."

The eye lights flickered out and on again. It blinked at him. Then they flashed in white rage. The thin, three-pointed arms lashed out at his face. Vincent stumbled back, but it was too late. The pointed ends dug into his temples and red agony swallowed the night and everything around him.

 _Alex tried to hide her tears as she stormed out of the restaurant. She didn't need to spend time with people that didn't understand. Her mother always told her it was her choice. So she had made her choice. But that didn't ease the pain in her chest._

 _She stopped when she heard a muffled curse. "What?", she asked, confused. But she understood before she had finished the word. In her haste to get out of the restaurant, she had slammed the door right into the face of the man walking by. He glared at her._

" _I'm sorry," she mumbled, before hastily walking away. She just wanted to go home to her books. She could read about the wild horses again. Maybe that would make the ache go away. She had thought they were her friends._

 _Alex only needed to pass Fredbear's before turning into an alleyway that was a bit cooler than the rest of the city. The trash cans stank horribly, but at least the sun didn't sting her eyes anymore. One car passed them, but in the bright afternoon sun, nobody could have seen into the shade, even if he tried. Alex heard steps behind her and turned around._

 _He grabbed the girl by her slender neck and smashed her against the wall. What should have been a cry for help turned into a strangled gurgle and eventually into a dazed whimper. Her tiny arms flailed helplessly and he grabbed her wrist, locking it between her back and the brick wall. He pressed her to the wall with his body, his breath speeding up from the effort. She was strong for such a small, fragile child. At first he had thought it was a boy, except for the pink bow tie in her hair. Not that it was of any importance._

 _The girl's face was beginning to turn blue, contorted in fear and pain. Her dark eyes stared at him with one obvious question in them:_ Why are you doing this? _He laughed, although quietly. He couldn't risk alerting anyone._

Why? Why?! _Because it was fun, of course. Feeling her struggle, her fight for survival. Such a strong will._

 _He grabbed her arm, that was slapping at him uselessly. He had barely felt her hand on his arms. The girl opened her mouth in a breathless, agonized scream as he squeezed. Tears were running over her face. Her question had turned into a wordless plea._

 _He took the knife out. Alex' eyes widened even more and her resistance multiplied. He had trouble holding her in place. It happened like it had to: his hand slipped. Alex gasped, air flowing back into her lungs. She kicked him, her foot missing what she was aiming for and hitting his thigh instead. He hissed in pain and slammed his whole weight against the fragile body of the child. A second later he had regained his grip and her cry was cut off before she could reach a significant volume._

 _It was only a pocket knife, but he had sharpened it as much as possible. A legal weapon, easy to hide, something every second person his age carried. He had been with the scouts after all and a little blood was part of that. He'd just have to wash it and they would leave this blasted city soon, leaving the heat and bright sun behind._

 _Alex gurgled when the knife dug into her chest. Her eyes bulged, about to fall out of their sockets and her mouth opened in a fruitless attempt to scream. Blood gushed out of the wound and into her shirt, turning gray to dark red._

 _The knife slid into flesh easily. Again, and again, and again. He had never felt better. Alex gurgled and whimpered, the lights in her eyes slowly dying away. The more they faded, the more his blood rushed, and the greater the ecstasy became._

 _There were steps coming to the alleyway. He spun, dropping the child to the ground. She lay there like a broken doll, her skin almost translucent, in a spreading pool of this beautiful red liquid. Her eyelids fluttered weakly, but she didn't move._

 _He looked up and down the alley. His blood was still rushing with adrenaline, but now his excitement had been replaced by panic and rage. Whoever this was, he had interrupted this precious moment of delight. Maybe he should just kill him too._

 _No. It was too risky. There was nowhere to hide and he wasn't sure if he could overwhelm an adult, especially not without alarming anyone. His moment was over, cut painfully short by whoever was coming closer. He sent one last string of curses at the stranger before he turned and ran._

" _It's me._ "

The purr of mechanics was all around him. Somebody groaned.

Vincent blinked against soft light. The world was a mess of colors. Slowly, he sat up. His head was throbbing and the smell of blood stung in his nose.

His hands were red. Blood, on his clothes, on his hands. Alex' blood.

 _No._ He shook his head, focusing all his will on breaking out of this illusion. They were playing with him again. There, his hands were clean. No blood on him.

A giant brown face bowed down to him with a soft creaking of metal joints. "Hello," Freddy said, his jaws moving slowly Vincent could see the second row of teeth that were part of the metal endoskeleton. But the face looked almost real, with softer curves and nearly human expressions. The blue eyes of the bear looked him over, his face almost gentle. "Are you ready for Freddy?"

 _It's a miracle they weren't sued already for such a motto._ He almost giggled, but stopped himself in time. He couldn't become hysteric now.

Slowly, he tried to crawl back from the towering robot, just to feel something awfully similar to a foot under his hand. His back hit something hard and furry a second later. A second shadow fell over him.

"Look Freddy, a new friend," Chica chirped.

A violet foot came down so close to his hand he felt the costume brush his fingers. Metal echoed on the tiles as Foxy stepped up to the group, completing the circle. His hook was inches from Vincent's face. They looked down on him and smiled.

"Let's help our new friend up," Bonnie said and grabbed Vincent's arm. Foxy took the other one and Chica laid one giant hand on his shoulder. Their touch was icy, despite the synthetic fur. But maybe he was just cold, like the sweat rolling over his body. He couldn't even struggle.

Vincent let out a faint whimper when Freddy lifted his chin in a disturbingly tender motion. In the background, Puppet was hovering over them, a satisfied smile on its immobile face.

The main doors opened.

The animatronic's heads whipped around and Puppet even spun around itself once. There were steps coming through the entrance hall.

"Helloooo," Jenna's voice echoed through the rooms. "Vincent? It's me. I brought breakfast."

Foxy growled. The four looked at Puppet, that shook its head. And then they ran off. Vincent just sat there, flustered. He heard their steps fade in the distance, then the slamming of a door. Puppet vanished into the Prize Corner and he was alone.

"Hi," Jenna said. He turned his head towards the door. Jenna blinked down at him in surprise. "Are you okay? You look a bit... disheveled."

Vincent finally broke out of his paralysis and hastily got to his feet, trying to make himself look as if he hadn't been through a nightmare just now. His hair was even more messy than usual and he looked probably like... _like he had just had a vision of killing a child and then was almost killed by vengeful robots._ "It's... it's been a bad night. Doesn't matter." He cleared his throat. "What are you doing here so early?"

Jenna put down a paper bag. "I brought breakfast. Thought you could use it." She sat down and patted the seat beside her. "Come on, you look like you need it."

Vincent did as she asked, but then just looked at the breakfast she had brought without touching it. Suddenly he was dead tired. "Thanks," he said quietly. Jenna was really close now. Her perfume was strong and fresh. They were alone for at least one more hour. It would be easy to do...

 _many things_ , the dark voice said with a grin.

Vincent smiled a little. He could just take her hand. That shouldn't be so difficult.

"Actually, I'm here to ask you something," Jenna said. He raised his head. It was the first time she sounded uncomfortable. Jenna avoided his gaze for a moment, but then looked him straight in the eyes. This time he was the one to look away. Of course she came back to this.

"What was that last evening with you and Scott? He looked like he had seen a ghost. "

 _The only one seeing ghosts in here is me._ "Yeah."

Jenna waited for a more concrete answer. She was waiting in vain. "That's all?", she asked. "'Yeah'? Sorry, but that's not an answer."

He clenched his fists. Why did she have to be so difficult? He didn't have the nerves for that right now. "I... made a mistake," he said slowly. His voice was barely audible, awfully close to a growl.

There was a long pause. "Yes," Jenna sad eventually. "But I think Scott will forgive you some time."

Vincent forced himself to relax his hands. "Hm?"

A strong, warm hand ran through his hair. "From what Scott always told us and what I saw of you, something like this can't separate you. He'll forgive you."

"I thought it was over," he murmured. Jenna's hand lay on his head. He liked that. It felt good. It was calming. It was great because it was his Jenna. "I didn't want to..."

"Don't worry. Somebody that much in love..."

Vincent shot upright and stared at her. "What?!"

Jenna jerked back, suddenly looking really embarrassed. "W-What? Did I say something wrong?"

Vincent just stared at her. Who was in love with whom? Except for him of course.

Jenna's tanned face darkened a few shades of red. She rubbed the scar on her cheek. "Oh God... I thought you knew... I mean he never said it, but the way he acts around you... and he always talks about you. He admires you."

Some gears he hadn't known were there clicked into place. Tiffany Marsten.

 _Just... so you know_ , Scott had said. He had never assumed anyone knew. This had been a confession in more than one way. Vincent had just been too occupied with the fact that he had hurt the only true friend he ever had. The true meaning of these words had just passed him by.

"Oh."

Jenna looked away and took a pancake, filling both their plates again. For a while they ate in nervous silence until only the figurative crumbs remained. Vincent forced himself to speak. This didn't bring them anywhere. He was sick of waiting to be interrupted. "Jen, can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She wiped her mouth with a paper towel.

"Where did you get that scar?" Vincent would have liked to slap himself. That was not what he had wanted to ask. But maybe it was better than asking her directly if she had a boyfriend. He assumed Scott would have mentioned it, but maybe Jenna was one of those people that somehow managed to separate the job from the rest of their life perfectly.

"Oh, that was an accident. Danny and I were rock climbing in high school and I slipped." She smiled, lost in thoughts. "He saved my life, you know? I was hanging in the ropes and Danny went back to get me, even though it was dangerous. I still know what he said:" She imitated Danny's not exactly deep voice. " _You're my sister. What else was I to do?_ You know, that's the kind of loyalty I saw between you and Scott. There are few things that can destroy that."

Vincent concentrated on his breathing so he didn't sell himself out. She was talking like Scott was the whole reason he was not getting forward. To her. As if she didn't want to intrude. To hell with that hopeless romantic. Scott knew exactly that was out of the question.

"Oh hell, look at the time. Your shift is over." Jenna stood up and crumpled the paper into a ball. "Get yourself some sleep. And talk to Scott. Everybody makes mistakes."

 _Oh shut up! I don't need your advise!_

"Vincent, stop. That hurts." He blinked. When had he grabbed her arm? There were white marks on her tanned arms around his hands. Jenna's blue eyes flashed and she freed herself like shaking off an insect. Vincent took a step back, trying to hide his panic. No. Not again.

Jenna looked him over. Her face wasn't hostile, just a little cautious. "You should get some sleep," she said and turned away to clean up the table.

"Jen..." He didn't get an answer. She just put the trash away and began to look over the tables if there was anything to do. Maybe she just hadn't heard him. Even in this silence, his voice might have been just too quiet.

"Jenna," he repeated, louder. She raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't stop walking. Another wave of rage washed over him. How dare she treat him like this!

The feeling was liberating. Now he knew what was happening. He could get it under control. This had worked before. He would never hurt his friends again.

Vincent caught up to her and touched her shoulder. Jenna spun, startled. He spilled the words out before he could do anything even more idiotic.

"Jenna, I'm sorry. It's been a really bad night, but that's no excuse. I didn't mean to hurt you. Forgive me." He paused. Actually, he felt better than any time before. He could make this.

"I know," Jenna sighed. She crossed her arm in front of her chest. "And I do. So?"

"I just thought... you know, when you're not here that often anymore... we could still... hang out, and so on..." ' _I can do this.' Sure thing, moron._

A smile spread on Jenna's face. "And I thought you'd never ask."

Vincent blushed. "Hey, it's only been three days!", he justified himself with a nervous laugh. What had just happened?

"True," Jenna admitted. "Anyway, off with you. You really need some sleep." She shoved him to the door. But not before kissing him on the cheek, really, really close to the mouth.


	5. Chapter 4

Halloween is over and I realized I hadn't even put up a new chapter yet. (I was sort of busy with the cosplay - a friend and me did Purple Girl (me) and Springtrap).

I sort of feel like I'm talking to myself here, but anyway... Thanks to The DJ Absolution for following.

Enjoy.

* * *

Vincent barely noticed Scott's absence when he entered their apartment. The twinge of guilt didn't even reach him. His feet were a foot off the ground and his head somewhere short of the clouds.

He could have acted less like an idiot, but in the end it didn't even matter. Jenna had basically agreed to go out with him, in a general sense. He could make up something nice. She had waited for this, so she liked him too.

And she had kissed him.

Damn near kissed him, but that was something he could change.

He had never expected to feel like this again. The pain dulled over the years, it never went away, that's what everybody said, and it was true. But it was almost gone now, if only for a limited time. Something that hadn't seemed possible, after Angie...

Vincent pushed that thought away before it could destroy his bliss. Jenna was right, he was exhausted. And he would sleep better if he left the difficult questions for later.

He should have known it was not that easy.

When he woke up after eight hours of undisturbed sleep, it could as well have been five minutes. Additionally, he had a headache that was happy to mix with a stiff shoulder and his protesting knees. Despite not having touched alcohol in years, his twenty-first birthday to be exact, he had the biggest hangover in creation.

Somehow, he reached the bathroom, discarded his clothes and staggered under the shower. For a while, he just leaned against the wall with his eyes closed and covered in dripping violet strands of hair. The cold water ran over his body and soaked the bandages around his knees he had forgotten to take off. When he realized the desired effect wouldn't kick in, he slowly removed them and dropped them in the sink. He stayed under the shower until his skin was pale enough to seem translucent and he was shivering so hard he could barely grab a towel. At least the pain in pretty much every part of his body had eased a little.

Someone, Scott or Mrs. Barnes, had left another pot of the miracle cure on the sink. Vincent found on last pair of bandages, this time putting a paper towel over the green paste before wrapping it up.

He dressed in pants that weren't shorts, but didn't give a glimpse of the bandages either, and a gray shirt. He left his hair open to dry and shaved, which he had somewhat abandoned the last weeks. It was a surprise he didn't cut himself, even though he wouldn't have cared in any case.

When he looked into the mirror, he barely recognized himself. Through whatever magic had been involved, he suddenly wasn't an engineer in his late twenties to early thirties anymore, but a high school student with a somewhat sharp edge to his pale face and ruffled violet hair falling on his shoulders. A little rebel, if a tired-looking one. He even looked a little similar to Pete.

Hopefully, he learned a bit more when he met Alex' parents. The girl would have left high school this year, if she had lived. He looked about the age she would have been now.

Vincent put his hair back into the usual ponytail. It didn't do much, but he looked a tiny bit older again. It was horrible enough to remind the Radkowskis of their daughter's death, even more so to show himself as someone of the same age – or what looked like it. Then again, like Pierce had said, they'd never forget it in any case.

Alex' cruel death still made him shiver. The murderer had enjoyed his deed. He had tortured the little girl until he had been interrupted. But despite the close encounter, Vincent had no idea who it could be. Alex hadn't seen him well against the bright light. It had been a tall man, slim, with dark hair down to his ears. And then Vincent had seen through the killer's eyes, felt what he had felt. It had been as real as Alex' sadness, her rage, as his own feelings. For a few moments he had understood what that monster had felt, had shared the joy of inflicting pain. It scared him.

Vincent trudged into the kitchen, absently wondering if he should get himself something to eat, and almost jumped through the roof at Scott's quiet "Hello".

Now he was awake. A bit too much for his taste. "H-Hi. What are you doing here?", he got out. The last time Scott had left the restaurant that early, he had been sick and the boss had to kick him out to get him to rest.

Scott sat at the kitchen table with some papers laid out, a plate of scrambled eggs untouched beside him. He was wearing a black tee and shorts. Vincent felt a stab of guilt at the sight of the bandages around his upper arms.

"I took an early shift," Scott said. "I thought it would be, uh, not so good to meet you there." He shuffled the papers, putting one to the right, what seemed to be the "done" pile. He wasn't actually reading, every idiot could see that. He was trying to busy himself, look calm, even disinterested. It was better than being afraid. "Jenna is still there, though."

"I know, she brought breakfast this morning." There was a tiny flicker of warmth at the memory of her touch.  
"Ah," Scott said. "Congrats."

Vincent considered talking this through with him, but he wasn't sure if he could do that. Besides, what was he to say? His charm and eloquence usually failed him in the moments he needed them most, particularly with his friends. "I'm sorry," he repeated quietly.

There was no answer.

Vincent went into the hall to put on his shoes. It was early, but maybe he could check in with Pierce personally, or visit Jenna before he met the Radkowskis. He would find something to do, and if it was just a walk through Gryffon Park at the city limits. In the end he could only hope Jenna was right.

"Where are you going?", Scott asked, his curiosity winning him over.

"I have an appointment." Silence. Vincent cursed himself. It hadn't actually been a snarl, but awfully rude, to say the least. "I'm going to meet the parents of Alex Radkowski. You know, the girl that was murdered eight years ago."

He finished tying his shoes and stood up. Scott frowned at him from the kitchen table. He was pale except for a few streaks of sunburn and had dark circles under his eyes, but for a moment, he almost looked like himself again. "Why?"

Vincent leaned against the frame of the kitchen door, seeing the nervous flicker in his friend's green-brown eyes. "I'm not sure. I read all the articles and everything, but still... Laugh at me if you want, but I want to find out who killed her."

Scott didn't laugh. "Uh... good luck then, I guess."

Vincent tried to remember what he had felt last evening. The thoughts were still fresh in his memory, but the feelings were ghosts, rationalized, and impossible to understand. Either way, what had driven him had been wrong. Scott didn't seem like much, but he was brave. Alone the fact that he was sitting here, despite the shock last evening, proved that he was stronger than most people Vincent had ever met. More than that, he was loyal.

 _Like a good little doggie._

Vincent shook off the deeper voice. This wouldn't happen again. Damn it, he had it under control! Thanks to Scott and Angie. And he should better be grateful to have them.

Scott looked like he wanted to keep the distance between them, but stayed where he was when Vincent sat down on the other side of the table. But he leaned back and crossed his arms, his fingers automatically brushing the bandages, shielding them.

"You hungry?", he asked carefully, nodding to the plate. "It's cold, but..."

"No thanks." What the hell. False cheer never got you anywhere. "Listen, Scott, I'm..."

"Yeah," Scott interrupted, unusually sharp. "I know. Let's change the topic. What do you have so far on your investigation?"

Well, that was a new twist, Vincent thought. "Only the newspaper articles from the archive. I talked to the journalist that wrote the follow-up article last month, but he said there was nothing more to find. Police never had a real suspect, nothing. Maybe it really was just a traveler."

The thought struck him out of nowhere and he felt a strange twinge in his stomach, part memory, part pleasure, part fear. "You mentioned we were in the area when the murder happened."

Scott didn't even need to think about it. "Remember that family trip we did that summer? You know, our parents, my sister and V-" He broke off at something Vincent hadn't noticed and cleared his throat, his eyes flickering nervously about for a moment. "Anyway, we stopped by here for a day or two. Your Dad's birthday, right? There was a lot of chaos, but nobody knew anything distinct until the newspapers brought it the next day. We were already heading out of town. Mum freaked out when she saw me read the story." He shook his head.

Vincent knew exactly what trip he was talking about. His and Scott's family had insisted on traveling all the way from their home town down to the south and back by car. It had been horrible. Vincent had only accompanied them because he couldn't leave Scott alone with Victor. But who knew, at least they had seen where they would end up some day, this growing, hot, bright city. Far, far away from their past and all people that represented it.

What had they been doing that day? His Dad had been piss-faced drunk from the evening before and Victor had been playing with Mary, all the perfect son that took care of the annoying quasi-sister. The little shit had always said she'd rather have Victor as her brother. It was easy for people to like you if you were a lying, backstabbing sociopath, the golden kid that got away with nearly everything. You just needed to divert the blame to someone else.

And who would be better suited than your twin brother?

"Vincent?" He snapped out of the memory to find his hands had clenched around the edge of the table. Scott hadn't left his seat, but looked more than ready to flee at any second. Vincent sighed and stretched his fingers before laying his arms on the table. After a moment, he dropped his head on them. What could possibly go even more wrong except for getting killed by the robots?

"This is nuts. It's just nut," he murmured, unsure if he should laugh or cry.

Scott was not even calling him Vince anymore. He had been the only person to ever call him anything else than his full name, aside of Angie, whose preferred nickname had been "Vinny". And that had been fine, because they were his best friends. Nobody else wanted or dared to, which was perfectly fine as well. He hadn't noticed before, but the nickname had been a familiar, calming institution.

"Just thinking of my brother. It's okay," he mumbled. For a moment, he actually considered telling Scott everything – the nightmares, the vision Puppet had shown him, the attacks. But this was no time. Not when his friend was already so...

(scared of him)

stressed.

"Want me to come with you?"

Vincent raised his head. The offer came as a shock, maybe to both of them. Scott's smile looked forced. What did Shakespeare say? People in love were nothing else than crazy.

"Thank you, but no. I don't think they'd be so happy about two of us turning up." He looked at the time. Still an eternity to go. He wondered what his brother was doing. Probably sitting in his office, in an expensive suit, with his girlfriend. At least that was the last news Vincent had received with a postcard labeled for his old address. The landlord had been nice enough to send it after him. Sometimes Vincent wished he hadn't.

 _Hawthorne, Simmons and de Briss, Consulting Agency, Los Angeles, CA_ , the card had read on the front. Included had been a photo that might almost have depicted him. His own face, framed by black hair, with an impeccable tan, one gym-trained arm laid around a blond woman almost twice his age. Miss Amethyst Hawthorne, head of the agency, and Victor's fiancee.

If his brother assumed he could make Vincent jealous, he was wrong. He just threw the card away, disgusted by the falseness it carried like a stench.

"Come on, Victor was an asshole and always will be. Smile, you can't kill everyone."

That made Vincent actually laugh, despite a small stab of dread at the old joke. "You should have become a psychic."

Scott forced himself to another smile and shrugged. "What else should it have been? Speaking of which, my Granny called. She's gonna celebrate her birthday this summer by coming to Miami and asked us to come over. We'll probably spend all day eating cake and going through old family photos from the beginning of the century, but hey, whatever. Maybe Mum is coming to. I bet Mary and Dad are way too busy." His voice picked up an edge it rarely showed. "Vincent?"

He noticed being called, but his mind was somewhere else. Scott had sparked an idea he couldn't grasp yet, "What did you say we were going to do?"

"Uh, eating cake? Going through ancient family-" He broke off when Vincent jumped to his feet.

 _Of course! It's so obvious._

"Thanks, man. You're a genius." He clapped his friend on the shoulder and ran out, too excited to notice Scott flinching away and staring after him as the door slammed shut.

He sprinted down to his car, but then made a detour over the public phone. Pierce was out of breath when he answered at his desk. "Who is it?", he snapped.

"Bad day?"

There was a confused pause. "So to say. Who are you?"

"Vincent de Briss, I called you yesterday."

"Ah, yes." A chair creaked and Pierce let out a long breath. "Something came up?"

"I had an idea. In one of the articles were two photos. One was a portrait of Alex, the other one some kind of group picture. Looked like a family photo."

Pierce continued gasping for air while he thought about it. "Yes," he said eventually. "I remember that. What about it?"

"There were five persons on the photo. Three were Alex and her parents. I'd like to find out who the others were. The copy was too blurry to see anything distinct. Do you think there's still the original picture somewhere? I don't remember the newspaper, I'm afraid."

Pierce chuckled, which turned into a wheezing cough that forced Vincent to hold the speaker away from his ear until it had passed.

"Sorry. That happens to be our lovely Gazette. I'll see what I can find. Strange that I didn't check that out. Hey... if you happen to find the killer after all, with all my help..."

"You'll get the exclusive rights for the story, of course," Vincent promised. Journalists. Always looking for profit. But fair was fair. What did he care, anyway? All that mattered was finding the killer.

 _You don't have to look so far, Vincent._

He froze. No. He wouldn't listen to that. "Shut it," he murmured.  
"Sorry?", Pierce asked.

Vincent snapped out of his thoughts. "Nothing. Thank you."

"Still for leaving a message at your work place?"

"Yes. Usually, the boss in in the office. His name is Adrian Laroche. Just leave a message and I'll call you back."

"Very well then, Mr. De Briss. I'm impressed. The police didn't look into that as far as I know." After a moment he added, a little growl in his voice: "Me neither."

They hung up and Vincent realized maybe it would have been better to take Scott up on the offer of scrambled eggs, cold or not. His stomach let out a protesting growl. But he didn't want to go back either.

Instead, he drove to the other side of the city to make a little walk through the park. On the way, he picked up a few apples form the market that took place every week. Scott would be happy about that and it was better than nothing. He didn't exactly feel like fast food and it was not that they had a huge budget for eating out.

The sun was setting, although the heat didn't change. Vincent wandered through the shade of the trees for a while, glad about the cool wind the small lake carried his way. Eventually, he heard the bell tower strike what seemed to be quarter to seven. He threw the apple core into a waste basket without stopping and made his way to Harris Street, just a few blocks away. His knees had gotten considerably better now, but it was better to keep them moving. In case he needed it.

The Radkowski's house was one of the many wooden bungalows in this neighborhood. It was small and painted in an impeccable layer of white and blue. The lawn was dry, but neatly cut. Vincent opened a door in a white picket fence and almost immediately stood on an equally white patio with two chairs and a metal table. He couldn't even knock before the door was opened.

Mr. Paderewski, the man with the booming voice, was a dwarf. He was at least two inches smaller than Scott, but had a similar stocky build. The thin white hair stood in all directions, refusing to stay in place. He regarded Vincent with tired, black eyes, eyes that had seen too much. His face was a mess of lines, too many for a man his age. He had to be around fifty, but looked far older than that.

"Mr. De Briss, I assume."

"Good evening. Thank you for letting me come over."

The old man opened the fly screen and led him inside. The door opened into an empty kitchen. Only a few steps further they entered what had once been the living room. Now it was packed with cardboard boxes, the walls bared, with dark rectangles where pictures had hung.

On such a box, an old woman sat. Like her husband, Ivana Radkowski looked far older than she was, and her back was bent as if she had been carrying heavy weights all her life. She must have been taller than her husband, but now they were both tiny and withered. Both were clothed in layers and layers of loose fabric, flowing around them like a cloud of dark mist. The woman held out a porcelain tea cup. Her fingers were twisted by arthritis.

"Ice tea," she said with a strong Eastern accent. Since there was no real alternative except being rude and he actually was thirsty, Vincent took the cup. Peaches, his favorite flavor.

"Thank you."

They sat down on the boxes, as there was nothing else to sit on. The content of the box creaked under his weight.

"What do you want to know?", Bazyli Radkowski asked in his booming, unfitting voice.

"First off, I'm sorry to bother you with this. I'm trying to find out what really happened to your daughter." He took a breath. "And who killed her."

"The police already tried that," Ivana said. She was the opposite of Bazyli, a quiet voice, barely more than a whisper, and with the texture of a rusty door moving.

"I know. But I might have new clues. I'm here because I want to know what person Alex was. What she enjoyed, what she didn't like, that kind of thing. Habits, too."

"Why?" The sandpaper-voice of the old woman whispered over the worn-off wood on the floor.

"I'm trying to get anything I can." _Horses. She loved horses. She had books about them. And she didn't get along with the other kids._

"She loves animals. First it was dogs, then rabbits, cats, horses. She was always reading rather than playing with the others. They bullied her, but she still went back to this pizza place every week. Because she liked the robots. Just because of that..." Ivana stared at the ground. Her bent shoulders shivered. "I wish she wouldn't have been there. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, the police said."

Bazyli laid an arm around her shoulders and she sagged against him, hiding her face. Vincent hesitated. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all.

"Aleks wanted to become a veterinarian," the old man said. "She studied hard. Maybe that was why she was so scary for her classmates. But she was such a sweet girl. Who would do anything to her?" His voice was just a sigh, the question old and without its edge. "She was just a child. She always insisted on her bedtime song."

"A song?", Vincent asked. He hadn't noticed so far, but Ivana gave a quiet little humming sound he now recognized as a chant. It was a staccato of single notes, just a few simple sounds arranged to the ghost of a melody.

"It was from a..." Bazyli searched for the word. "There was a roll with metal pins inside that turned and played the tune."

"A music box?"

"Yes. Actually, it's in the box you're sitting on. Take it out." Vincent stood up and opened the box. Old plates, porcelain, everything was wrapped tightly in old newspapers and stacked on each other. One of the balls didn't fit. He took it out and unwrapped it. It was indeed a music box. The rectangular chest was wooden, old and carved with withered patterns. When he opened it, there were the mechanics, untouched by the years, and a tiny figurine of a woman in a long flowing dress. The color on her hair had long since faded, but she reminded Vincent of Jenna for some reason.

He wound the box and the tune Ivana had been humming came out, tone by tone, clear and beautiful. Vincent played it two times until he thought he knew the tune enough to replicate it. There was a idea building in his head.

"It's wonderful," he murmured, watching Jenna spin in the long dress. Eventually, the tune slowed, when the tension in the roll faded and came to a stop. Vincent closed the box and was about to put it back, when Bazyli said: "Keep it."

Vincent was so flustered he didn't say anything for a second. "What?"

The old man rubbed his wife's shoulder, cradling her. She had stopped crying, but her eyes were lifeless. "We bought it on a market in the old country before we came to America. The vendor told us it would bring our child luck. Have it if you want. We could never throw it away because... it would be a waste. "

"Uh... thank you," Vincent stuttered. That was even better.

Ivana gave a quiet sigh. "Hope it brings more luck to you, boy. I would like to rest now."

Bazyli helped his wife to her feet. Vincent understood the implication. "Thank you again and sorry for bothering you." Alex' father brought him out personally and watched as Vincent walked down the street, the small wooden box in his hands like a gift for the Gods. If any god was watching over this thing, it could only be a cruel one.

The talk with the Radkowskis had only taken half an hour. Maybe that gave him enough time to exercise what had popped into his head when he heard the music. It was Alex' sleep song.

If she was sleeping, would the other animatronics even awaken at all?

Of course, it was only a theory. But he didn't have a better shot. This morning, Jenna's unexpected appearance had saved his life. The animatronics had caught him despite his (idiotic) plan and he had no chance at even fighting back. Next time, they might not get startled so easily. For whatever reason Alex wanted to kill him, if she decided there should be no witnesses, anyone that came in at the wrong time might be in danger. Especially Scott or Jenna.

He was pretty sure he would be fine as long as the restaurant was full, and in the storage should be everything he needed. So he drove home to change his clothes and first of all put the little music box in his bag.

Scott had left him a note on the kitchen table that he would bring the papers to the restaurant and then probably get some sleep. Said papers were still lying on the table, though, a neat stack without a single corner peeking out.

Maybe he was just in the shower or whatever. Considering how jumpy Scott was right now, he would probably get an early heart attack if they ran into each other. But Vincent couldn't help being a bit worried. The last time he hadn't been over-careful he would regret for the rest of his life.

Scott's room was right next to the kitchen, so Vincent looked there first, opening the door quietly in case Scott was sleeping. Nothing, and everything was as ordered as it could be. Just for good measure he checked his own room. It wouldn't have been the first time they switched on accident. It was also empty, and by far not as tidy.

The bathroom was empty, but there were towels hanging to dry and the air was wet.

The living room was even darker than the rest of the flat. Vincent's eyes needed a moment to adjust, but when they did, it was a relief in comparison to the brightness.

Scott was sleeping on the sofa, hair still soaked from the shower, Vincent's book opened on the floor beside him. He looked just like in summer camp in eighth grade, save for the beard, when their tent broke down due to Victor's idiotic idea of a prank. Scott was frightened and exhausted and Vincent acted like he was, so they were allowed to sleep in the supervisor's hut. After the adults had gone, Scott had opened his eyes, given him a thumbs-up and turned right back to sleep.

Vincent had to laugh at that memory. Some things never changed.

He picked up the book and put it on the table so they didn't step on it on accident. Careful not to wake his friend, he lifted the bandages a little to check on the scratches. Scott had obviously used some of Mrs. Barnes' miracle cure, and they didn't look as bad as he had thought. Thank God.

Scott shifted in his sleep and Vincent let him rest. There was still a lot to do before the lights went out.

He parked his car in the spot Jenna had shown him and entered through the back door. Molly nodded at him. She even interrupted her explanation why she liked Danny so much, although it wasn't obvious who she was talking to. William, the assistant cook, grimaced at him, indicating the babbling Molly. Vincent gave him a sympathetic shrug, and entered the Show Room.

Noise, fast food, brats everywhere. He could be glad he didn't work in the day shift. On his way to the storage, he swerved around kids and parents alike. The little girl from yesterday, Malory, waved at him with a shy smile. Vincent waved back, and after a moment, even the little girl's company, probably her mother, smiled. It was a family restaurant, but in the end it was open to every sort of creep. Except for Jenna, there was next to no security. Danny and Scott were no big match to anyone. Oh well, not his kids, not his business.

He pushed down the handle of the storage door and almost bumped his head against the wood. The door was locked. That was strange.

He usually left the keys to whoever came to relieve him from his post, but this morning, he had been way too confused and frightened to think of anything that trivial. He would have noticed the key ring on his belt, wouldn't he?

 _Well, then the animatronics took it._ That would certainly make a creative excuse when Adrian confronted him. Great, just great.

Dreading the worst, Vincent made his way to the office, past noisy and crammed party rooms. Today, there would be way more to clean up.

The office was empty, he could see that from far away. To be sure, he checked the desk. No keys. Damn it. Adrian surely wouldn't leave them lying around, especially since the office was basically open to anyone. Sighing, Vincent turned around and began to look for his boss.

In the passage to the Main Hall, he stopped. It was quiet here compared to the Show Room and the Party Rooms behind him, so he could hear every word that was being spoken.

Pete trotted along the hallway, his head lowered and the blond hair covering his eyes. That meant he didn't see Molly, that hurried in from the Show Room. They collided in front of the lady's bathroom. Molly let out a high-pitched squeak and her back hit the door frame. Pete staggered, but stayed on his feet.

"Oh, oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't-"

Molly stared at him, then laughed uncomfortably. "It's... It's okay." She frowned. "What happened to you?"

Pete looked away. As he turned his head, Vincent saw why: His left eye was covered in a large black bruise. "Nothing. I- I was training."

"Oh really? Training what?"

"B-Boxing."

If Molly noticed the lie, she hid it with the skills of a professional actress. "Oh, that's cool. Hey, if you see Ethan, tell him to wait here for me, okay?" And then she hurried into the bathroom, leaving Pete behind. The moment the door slammed shut, his shoulders sagged and he rubbed his face that slowly began to turn red. "Boxing. Sure," he mumbled. He clenched his hands into fists and raised them in a vague fighting position, examining them. The result didn't seem to be what he wanted. Pete dropped against the wall, closing his eyes. "Shit."

Vincent knew that feeling.

Then Adrian stormed in with his usual wide steps. He saw Pete and stopped.

"Oh dear, such misery. Girl trouble?"

Pete lowered his hands, his face numb for a moment. When he recognized Adrian he hastily straightened up. His face was brighter than a light bulb. "Uh, sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to..."

"Don't be silly. I've been young once." Adrian clapped him on the shoulder. "Listen up. There's one trick you might want to keep in mind. The moment her environment likes you, your chances go up."

"She doesn't even really notice me," Pete murmured miserably.

"That's what I mean. Say, if your girl has... younger siblings, maybe? Imagine that sibling liking you, even admiring you. Kids are simple. He'll tell her how great you are and then you can make the next move."

Pete stared at him. One could literally see the gears in his head moving. Then a tiny smile spread on his face. "Thank you, Sir."  
Adrian nodded and turned to go. Vincent retreated a few steps and then pretended as if he was just coming down the corridor. He wasn't sure why.  
"Ah, Victor, there you are," Adrian said brightly.

"It's Vincent," he corrected patiently. Adrian couldn't know what it meant. He didn't know the surge of hatred Vincent felt at that name. He didn't know his brother.

"Ah, of course. You're in early again. You know, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but it's really not necessary to do so much overtime on your first week."

"It's no problem. Thought you might need help or anything..." He looked down in a meaningful way. Adrian grinned, catching the implication.

"Ah, young love. I wish my Annie would be still alive..." He sighed. "Is Scott resting himself? He looked pretty bad, so I sent him home." Nobody had gossiped? That was a surprise.

In the end, nothing beat dumb luck, sad as it was.

"Yes. Oh, Sir, before I forget it, I need the keys to the Storage."

His heart skipped a beat waiting for the answer. Could it really be...? Adrian took out the ring of keys. "Here you go. I locked it so the kids don't run in on accident or because they're too curious." He handed Vincent the right key. "I'll put it back on the desk when we're wrapping up, like always," Vincent promised. Still nothing. It might be ridiculous, but did the animatronics leave it in its proper place? Or did Jenna find it and decided not to sell him out?

Adrian turned to go, but stopped again. "Something unrelated, I noticed you already heard about the... incident near the old restaurant."

Vincent hesitated. How much did he know? "Yes, I did. A little girl was murdered right next to it."

"Yes," Adrian said, his voice a pitch deeper than usual. "You know, I'm looking into that right now. Maybe it will help us raise the security standard here. You're from Michigan, right?" In response, Vincent simply nodded. "Scott mentioned you had been in town at that time."

Damn Scott and his careless mouth! He would be an amazing source, if he wouldn't be talking to everyone alike, asked to or not. His personal road to hell would be paved with good intentions and things he let slip on accident if there was something like that.

Vincent looked around as if he needed to think about it, puffing his cheeks out. "Uh... Could be. What day was that?"

"The thirteenth August 1970." Adrian watched him with those gray falcon's eyes. What kind of question was that, anyway?

"Yeah... I guess. We made a family trip that summer. We heard about the murder on the way, but hell if I still know when and where exactly."

Adrian looked disappointed. "Too bad. You know, few people still want to talk about it. I thought maybe another witness... but you're right. It's too long ago." The old man gave him a clap on the shoulder and stalked away, leaving Vincent puzzled and – which surprised him – suspicious. Security updates? He had seen Alex die. The restaurant hadn't been involved at all. And even eight years ago, the city hadn't been small. The 'general area' was even bigger.

He shook his head and turned to the Storage. What had he been doing that day, for that matter? He didn't remember. Had that still been in his diary time? He had kept it up for a few years, until he realized Victor was secretly reading them to sell him out to their father, and he could do literally nothing against it, no matter what tricks he used. It probably wasn't important, but maybe he should check anyway. They should be somewhere in the flat. He certainly hadn't left them with his family.

Vincent unlocked the door, not failing to notice the scratches in the wood, where it had slammed against the table. He flicked on the lights and was greeted by utter chaos.

For a moment, he just tried to take in what he saw. It wasn't that the animatronics, before they managed to get out, had gone rampaging through the room. That wouldn't have surprised him. On the contrary, what was destroyed wasn't the room, but the animatronics itself. The old animatronics looked just the same as they had, Foxy excluded. He was sitting in the far corner, alone and tattered. At least he had some company now.

Somebody had bashed the toy animatronics.

Feeling like a sleepwalker, Vincent stepped into the room to examine the now more than dead-looking characters. Whatever fear he had of them was gone for now. But he still left the door open. Just to be sure.

Bonnie was missing one ear, and the plastic hull around his belly had been smashed, exposing the endoskeleton. The eyes were blackened, one was missing altogether. His jaw had been ripped off and there were cables spilling out of his mouth.

Chica was off best, with only a few rips in the plastic and her eyelids and beak missing.

Freddy had lost his whole left arm. There were only cables left, arranged around what had to be the endoskeleton. The joints of his neck had been broken, making it hang to the side, limp.

"Wow. Molly was right, they are spooky."

Vincent spun, his heart skipping a beat. Then his reason caught up to his paranoia.

"Oh... Hi."

"Evening." Danny leaned against the door frame behind him, his bad arm in a sling, and a thick bandage showing under the short sleeves. It was the first time Vincent saw him without his uniform. He smiled to hide his racing heart. "I thought you had the week off."

Danny shrugged. "I know, I know. But I enjoy keeping the kids company, job or not. Besides, it's not that bad." He moved his shoulder a little for demonstration. The grimace he couldn't suppress proved him a liar.

"Okay, yes, it hurts," he admitted. "But you know, mind triumphs over body or whatnot. Just don't tell Jenna I'm here. She would rather tie me to a chair, or even better the bed. I'll go crazy if I have to sit around all day."

They were interrupted by a high-pitched voice calling his name. Danny turned to a little girl running up to him, her eyes wide in fear. "Mr. McCormick, what happened?"

Danny smiled and hunkered down to be on eye level with her. "Just a little accident. It's nothing. Next week I'll be just like new."

"Promise?", the little girl asked, clutching a Bonnie plush toy as if it was for her life.

"Of course, dear." He stroked her hair, making her giggle. With one last worried glance she ran back to her friends, a group of children guarded by a stressed-looking woman in her late thirties.

"Who was that?", Vincent asked.

"I have no idea," Danny said. He straightened up with a quiet groan. "I've been getting that reaction from a lot of kids today and every one seems to know who I am, even though I can't remember ever talking to them. It's heart-warming, isn't it?"

Vincent found that more strange than lovely, but nodded anyway. "What happened?"

Danny was still watching the kids with an absent smile. His reaction took a few seconds. "What? You were-" Another pause until he managed to follow the change of topic.

"Oh! The Storage. Sure." He turned back to the room and Vincent joined him in the door. "Well, Jen said when she checked after you went home, everything was fine. Somebody had to get in while she was working in Kid's Cove. She heard some noise and then it looked like this."

"I thought Jenna doesn't know you're here."

Danny grinned, a little embarrassed. "Molly told me. She knows it from William and he listened when Jenna told Adrian. You know how it is. I talked to Will, except for some..." He chuckled. " _exaggerations_ , Molly was more or less right. There were no signs of a forced entry, I think. Except, what are those marks on the Storage door?"

Vincent had no decent answer to that and shrugged his shoulders. Another question had just popped up out of nowhere. He should have noticed that earlier. "Does Jenna have a key for the main doors?"

Danny frowned. "No. There are only two sets of keys. One is the main set, that's the one we're giving around. And a spare set that's usually stored in the office. Why?"

"Just asking." Yet another fragment in a puzzle that became more difficult the more pieces he got. Who had destroyed the animatronics? Jenna was strong enough, but he just couldn't imagine her doing that. What reason would she have? But then how had anyone gotten in? Could it have been the old animatronics themselves? But why? On Alex' order?

Also, if Jenna had no keys – or at least should not have – how had she opened the main doors this morning, saving his life?

"Management will be," Danny lowered his voice a bit, "up our asses for that. They wanted to have the new ones in use by next Monday."

Another piece fell into place, dislocated in the whole picture, but shining like a beacon.  
"Danny?!" Said man winced at the voice and grimaced.

"Oh God, no," he murmured before turning around, a forced smile on his face. "Hi, Jen."

She stopped inches from him, hands on her hips, blue eyes blazing. She was taller than him, looking at it closely, just a bit. Additionally, Danny seemed to shrink under her glare.

"What are you doing here?!", Jenna snapped. "You should be home and rest!"

"Stop screaming like that. You'll scare the kids. I was home all day."

"And that's where you belong!", she replied, in a more quiet voice, but her words still sharp enough to cut bricks. Her eyes flickered to Vincent for a moment and she did a double take.

"Vince? Oh hell, I didn't even recognize you at first glance." She looked him over. "Wow. Hey, when you're already here, can you please tell my brother what an idiot he is for coming here instead of resting?"

He hesitated. Some part wanted to agree with her – it was Jenna, after all – but then again, it was against his nature to just repeat anything he was told. She was overreacting.

"I think Danny is old enough to decide that for himself."

Jenna's eyes narrowed. "Fine then," she growled. "Idiots, both of you." So much for his date then. _And just because of this kid._ Well, technically Danny was barely a year younger than him. But he still looked like a kid. And if there was one thing Vincent couldn't stand it was annoying kids that kept him from what he wanted.

"Also, Jenna wants you to know you're an idiot," he added to Danny. The siblings both blinked at him. Then Danny suppressed a laugh and even the fire in Jenna's eyes eased a little as she smiled.

"Just promise me to be careful."

"Of course," Danny answered, as if he had heard that a million times already. "Actually, I'm just here because Molly called me. She said management would blame you for... that." He gestured into the storage.

Vincent politely stepped aside to give her a better look. Jenna didn't need one. "Yeah," she sighed. "I was the only one around, after all. Vince, you didn't lock the doors when you left, did you?"

He blinked. "What? No. I, uh, I left the keys in the office."

Jenna nodded, but the line on her forehead had deepened again. "I'm just asking, because... why did you leave the doors open?"

He stared at her, uncomprehending. Jenna's slender brows furrowed a bit more. "I thought I would just knock and hope you'd hear me, but the doors were open when I arrived. You're not a smoker, are you?"

 _You got to be kidding me._ "Oh, that, yes, no, I... I'm not. Just went outside for a minute to get some fresh air. I suppose I forgot... I mean, that must have been around, what, five?"

"I was there twenty past five," Jenna said.

He cleared his throat. "Well, they can't blame you."

"Let's hope so." She changed the topic before the dread could settle in. "How's Scott?"

"Sleeping. I guess it was all too much for him. He's always been a workaholic."

"Tell me about it," Jenna murmured and nudged her brother. Danny let out a sound of protest, shielding his arm.

"Danny?" It was Ethan, the black-haired boy. He looked frightened. Then again, he had looked frightened most of the time Vincent had seen him. If he was so scared, why the hell did he spend every day here? This wasn't a kindergarden.

Danny smiled at him. "Hey, how are you?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders and looked around, as if he was fleeing from some pursuer. "Is Scott here?"

"No, he has a day off."

"Oh," Ethan said in a tiny voice. "Then... can you come with me? It's really full here and I can't find Molly."

"Of course." Ethan immediately wrapped his small hands around Danny's and they walked towards the Show Room, heading for the exit. Danny tried to get a conversation going and despite his short answers, the little boy seemed relieved. Jenna and Vincent watched them until they disappeared.

"Sometimes I think they should add 'restaurant and daycare'," Jenna sighed. "It's always the same kids that come every week and that make the most trouble. I mean, Ethan isn't responsible for his phobias or that his parents send him and his sister here most of the time."

"Is it that bad?"

Jenna stretched, covering a big yawn. She looked tired, but that didn't change a thing. She was still the prettiest girl he knew. Just laying an arm around her waist... no, only romantics would say that would be enough. But it would be a good start.

"You wouldn't know. He normally doesn't let anyone even touch him. Then he suddenly decided he trusted Scott – and by that I mean he didn't leave him alone for a week – and after a while, Danny became part of the chosen ones, and after that Pete. We others are accepted by now, but he doesn't talk to new people. He seems to be a bit scared of women older than his sister, too."

"Ah, yes, I remember. Scott told me about it." The weirdest part had been that Scott was exhausted, but not really annoyed. On the contrary, it seemed to be a fun time for him. He would make an amazing father. Certainly better than his own. And way better than Vincent's.

"Oh, I also talked to my professor, he'd like to supervise the tests himself, but I can do them. Next week, maybe?"

"Only if I can take you out for dinner afterwards." He hadn't wanted to say that. It had just been an idea, a hypothesis, a... oh God. He wouldn't blush now. _Just play it cool, Vince. Don't be an idiot._

Jenna blinked at him, but then a smile spread on her face. "Sounds amazing. As long as its not pizza."

"Promise." There, his feet were already beginning to leave the ground again. If he wasn't such a coward, he could just make a move right now. They were standing barely two feet apart. He could just take her hand or go forward and kiss her.

"Jenny, Victor!" If Vincent had ever felt the urge to kill someone, it had to be now. Adrian was strutting through the restaurant like a peacock, not caring about anyone else's business.

"It's still Vincent. And her name is Jenn _a_."

The old man shook his head, with this same broad, fatherly smile he always displayed.

"Of course, of course. Excuse me." For just a moment, they looked at each other and Vincent realized something. Adrian knew exactly who Victor was. He was using the name on purpose and he had interrupted them on purpose as well. Just like the encounter with Pete had been no coincidence. He had observed them.

 _Vincent, you're getting paranoid. He's your boss, not some scheming supervillain._

"I know it's a lot, but I have to ask you to repair the toy animatronics. We will close down for a while anyway, to get a better show on and all that. The contract still stands. Do you think two months are enough to get them ready?"

"I guess so..." No more night shifts? No Puppet, no crazy robots, and he could spend more time with Jenna. Perfect. "Yes, sure I can."

"Wonderful," Adrian said with a smile. "Because I'd rather not involve the management. They would surely want to investigate what happened to their new expensive toys." He left the threat hanging. Either him or Jenna would be blamed in any case if this came out.

"That won't be necessary," Vincent said sternly.

Somebody screamed, a piercing sound that reached them all the way from the far-away Prize Corner.

"Jenna, do the honor. Vincent, be a good boy and take a look at the damage." Jenna began to run and Adrian followed her with long, unhurried steps.

 _Be a good boy? Who does that guy think he is?_ Vincent didn't give his anger more space than a snort before he turned around and entered the Storage again. To hell with it. He had a date with Jenna next week, so he better took care he survived the night.

It took him less than an hour to figure out everything necessary. The construct wouldn't hold forever, but hopefully until he switched over to the day shift. After that he could still think of something else. He stored his little precaution in his bag. He would have to put it together after everyone else was gone. Adrian was behaving weird, and Vincent felt better without anyone knowing about it.

Chica was the easiest to repair. The beak and eyelids turned out to be removable anyway and there was no actual damage. Since they were the only things in her face able to move, it also made work easier. The mouth was just a dark hole with square plastic teeth. It couldn't close down on his hand.

He checked the wiring as well, but it didn't seem to have been damaged. There were more than enough spare parts to replace the damaged hull, and soon Chica looked as good as new. At least she was way less scary than her old counterpart. He wasn't so sure about the other ones.

 _Don't be silly._ He wiped his hands on a towel and stood up. His knees growled in protest, but then it soon got better.

The others would need more time. Reconstructing the limbs or ears and connecting them would take a few days. For today, he was done.

The restaurant was growing more quiet, but there were still customers around when he checked. Danny was talking to Molly, who listened with intent eagerness. If this would be a cartoon, her eyes would have been two big hearts.

Vincent was not the only one watching them. Pete pretended to be busy stacking all the plates the children had been too lazy to put on the trays, but his eyes wandered over to Molly all the time. She was wearing a strange combination of 'rebellious' and conservative clothes, ripped tights under a plain brown skirt and a too-wide sleeveless shirt with some kind of graffiti pattern.

As ridiculous as she looked, Pete didn't seem to mind. His cartoon-image would have a dark rain cloud following him everywhere as he shot longing glances at the girl of his dreams. He quickly avoided her gaze when she looked around and vanished into the kitchen.

The clock struck ten and the restaurant was empty. Vincent helped cleaning up the tables and was almost strangled by Vika, who came by for a late shift, actually bringing two large cans of coffee, more than enough for everyone.

Pete and Molly left at half past ten. Vincent saw how they said goodbye outside, barely more than a shy smile from Pete that wasn't registered by his crush. Molly walked away, leaving her admirer behind. After half a minute, Pete sat down on the sidewalk and rested his head on his knees.

"You should go talk to him." Vincent winced, but it was only Jenna. She laid her hand on his back.

"W-What?", he stuttered.

She nodded to the pile of misery crowned by a fluff ball of blond hair on the sidewalk. "I doubt he needs the advise of a woman. Go." He didn't want to go. He would prefer to stay with Jenna, with her presence and touch. _And what kind of advise should I give, anyway?_

He opened the door and stepped outside. Pete's head snapped up when he heard the steps and he jumped to his feet, wiping his face. "Did I forget... something?"

"No. I just saw you sit here. You alright?" Stupid question, but seriously? He should talk the kid through a broken heart? Vincent wasn't exactly the greatest at listening or caring for other people's problems. People outside a certain circle, that was. Why did Scott have to blank out today of all days?

"Yeah."

"Good. What happened to your face?"

"Training."

"What?"

"Boxing." At least he knew the basic rule of lying: Don't change your story.

"You sure?"

Pete didn't look at him and the shadows concealed his face. "That was really cool how you dealt with Maurice and Kyle. Can you show me that?"

 _Welcome to 1984, where nothing is secret and Big Brother everywhere_ , Vincent thought with a flicker of amusement. Who had gossiped this time? Molly? Probably not. Everyone in the vicinity had seen it, so there were too many possibilities. It didn't matter anyway.

"Sure. Do you need it?"

"Do I look like it?" His voice gained an edge that should sound like anger, but was desperation.

"Sort of."

Pete turned around abruptly. "I should go home. Thanks." He vanished between the few circles of light the street lamps provided.

"Damn," Vincent said to himself. "Good job, moron." With a sigh, he went inside. Jenna was still waiting. Danny chatted with William in the back, and Adrian was standing on the stage, observing them. He could feel the falcon eyes on him, but nobody else had noticed.

"Didn't go so well?", Jenna asked.

"Not really." A bolt of electricity seemed to run through his arm when Jenna placed her hand on his elbow.

"Maybe I should try my luck after all." There was a spark of sarcasm in her eyes when she added: "Maybe I'll even reach you men's level of eloquence."

"That sounds like a plan," Vincent agreed, acknowledging her superior people skills. He had always known that wasn't his strong side. He laid a hand in the small of her back. It felt natural. Jenna had to step a little closer, but despite a small frown she didn't shake him off.

"So... When do we meet next week? For... these tests?"

"Tuesday around three? My professor would like it earlier, of course, but he'll just have to admit to your work schedule." She laughed. And Vincent almost tightened his grip. The A/C was blaring overhead, but it was still warm outside. Her body was ever warmer. He was so focused on admiring her eyes that he missed the next question.

"Wh-What? Sorry."

Jenna didn't look offended. "I asked where we'll go afterwards," she repeated.

Thank God it was an easy question. "That depends on where you would like to go."

She thought about it and slipped her hand from his arm over to his back. He could only hope she didn't feel him shiver. Damn it, why was he overreacting like that? This gesture meant literally nothing.

"Well... If you ask me like that, there's a beautiful vintage diner on the edge of town," Jenna said.

"Sounds great."

He wished the moment would have lasted longer, but Adrian, Danny and William were about to leave. Jenna took a step back and let go, forcing him to do the same.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Vincent said, suddenly feeling incredibly clumsy and awkward.

"Sure." She hugged him. Despite the pleasant feeling that blocked out almost everything else, Vincent didn't fail to notice the grin Danny and William exchanged. Or the spark in Adrian's falcon eyes. The sinister implication was only a figment of his paranoia.

Once again he was alone. Quarter to eleven, more than enough time. He went over to the Prize Corner and set his bag down on the Counter. He wasn't sure where else to put it, really. He would have to wind it, thanks to his little gadget, only every 30 minutes. But that still meant he would have to cross the dark restaurant two dozen times. If his plan worked, the worst that could happen was grinding his nerves. If not... well, he didn't have a chance against them in any case, if he was sitting in the dark or not.

Once the music box was set up, he wound it. Better to do another test round before the lights went out. The high-pitched tones echoed eerily in the empty room. Vincent went through all the rooms once more and locked them behind him. While he did so, Alex' sleep song was playing softly in the background. Another thought hit him. It bothered him that his mind was working periodically like that, that he could never piece together everything, even the simplest things. Assembling and working with pieces had always been his passion. It was why he had become an engineer.

The animatronics had broken down the door of the Storage, right? There had been marks on the door where it had slammed on the table. Then why had Adrian been able to lock the door?

Vincent turned on his heels in the middle of the Show Room and went back. He unlocked the door, but opened it with care. Some irrational part of his mind was worried they'd already be waiting behind the door.

Of course there was nothing. The animatronics would remain still for a while longer.

He checked the door. The marks were still there, deep dents in the wood. But the lock was undamaged. As if...

As if it had been unlocked before they opened the door.

Vincent stood up and slammed the door shut, locking it three times. He clipped the key ring back on his belt with shaking hands, forcing himself to breathe steadily. There was a spare set of keys, Danny had said.

Vincent returned to the office, very close to running. He had two strong flashlights and spare batteries, that shouldn't be a problem. Left his little key problem. He had never seen the the office locked until he did it, so anyone could wander in. Not a place he would keep anything important. Unless...

Vincent grabbed the small key off the ring and unlocked the second drawer he had not yet dared to open. It was empty.

His lilac-colored eyes narrowed. "I'm getting sick of this hide-and-seek bullshit," he growled. There was no point to it, but he ran his fingers over the rough wood, then even over the bottom of the top drawer and the bottom of the formerly locked one. And then he touched an envelope.

Although his knees didn't like it, Vincent got off the chair and looked under the opened drawer. There was a plain brown envelope taped to it, flattened enough so it wouldn't nick the frame when the drawer was moved.

Vincent removed it, which was quite an effort with all the duct tape that had been used. Afterwards, the envelope was tattered and torn on the edges. He had to think of something so Adrian – or whoever had placed it there – wouldn't notice. In the file cabinets behind the desk should be papers or whatever. He just had to hurry.

Vincent tore open one side of the envelope and spilled the contents on the desk. The result was disappointing. Strewn about were the newspaper clippings he had found already.

What was the music box doing? He could hear a faint echo, but it was too distorted to make out anything. He had brought a timer, but forgotten to set it.

No. Vincent shook his head and forced himself to concentrate. His worn-down nerves wouldn't get the better of him. He still had a few minutes. Something was strange about this collection and he would find out what. The answer came to him after a few seconds and was surprisingly simple.

They weren't copies.

The last time he hadn't even thought about it, but the first stack of articles had been the same kind of copies he had gotten from the library, cut down from a whole page to the articles Adrian wanted. But these were originals, cut out of actual newspapers. The edges had tiny rips and tears and the paper was darkened from years of lying around. On one clipping there was even a smudge of ink and coffee.

The question was, what did that mean? Why should Adrian go and get copies from the library, which had taken hours of searching after all, if he had the original articles? He had collected them back when the murder happened. Or at least it seemed like it.

Vincent closed his eyes for a few moments and rubbed his temples. None of this made any sense.

He shoved the clippings back into some kind of stack and found an envelope in the file cabinets. Getting them back in was a little laborious, seeing how the old paper bent and got caught.

Vincent cursed when one of the edges dug into his skin. He drew back his hand, already seeing a red line appear on his hand, just between thumb and index finger.

In lack of a plaster, he just licked the blood off. There were people that couldn't stand the smell or taste of blood – he was none of them. It was nothing he thought about either.

Annoyed, he looked for what had cut him. In the middle of the stack, he caught the sharp edge of something thicker than a newspaper.

Hidden in the chaos were two photographs. Those had to be the originals he had asked Pierce for just a few hours ago. The portrait of Alex had been taken with an instant camera. In the background there was the living room he had sat in today, fully furnished and somehow brighter, more cheerful. The other one was indeed a family portrait. Alex stood in the front, in a blue dress, her hair down to her waist. It looked strange in combination with her boyish face, but she seemed to be happy, just like her parents. Ivana and Bazyli looked much younger, around thirty, and life hadn't taken their joy from them yet. Alex had to be around seven or eight in this picture.

Behind them stood another couple. The woman just had to be Ivana's mother – the face, the posture, even the smile was the same, only separated by two and a half decade at the most.

The man's face had been crossed out with a sharpie.

On the back of the photos were dates: 6/23/68 for the portrait and 8/12/67 for the family picture. In the same handwriting a pencil had scribbled a few words on the back as well. The letters were smudged and bleached out, but on the portrait Vincent could decipher something like "Our lovly Aleksandra". On the family picture it seemed to be names. He could more or less make out the words "Ivana", "Aleks" and the first few letters of "Bazyli". The older woman's name – Alex' grandmother – seemed to be Ann or Anna. The last part of the name was unreadable. The other man – presumably the grandfather – wasn't labeled at all.

Vincent put the pictures back and sealed the envelope. He didn't have time for this. When he was out of here, in daylight, he could think about this mystery. Now he only needed to put back his find and...

The lights went out in the corridor. And then the music box stopped playing.


	6. Chapter 5

Been a while since I updated ~ University is exhausting. But here we are, finally I gotta solve the cliffhanger from last time ;)

Enjoy!

* * *

"Good morning~", Vincent almost chanted as he flung open the door and marched in. Sunlight illuminated the kitchen and Scott, sitting at the table, his spoon full of cereal hanging half the way from the bowl to his mouth.

"What-" He hesitated, then manged to shake off his surprise and tried to smile. "M-Morning. You sound, uh, happy."

Vincent's feet didn't seem to touch the ground. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he was glowing with a strange kind of euphoria. The pain of the last days had vanished like a phantom.

"Oh, I am, believe me, Scotty." He patted his friend on the shoulder, glad Scott didn't flinch away anymore. Maybe for once he would get some decent sleep. Vincent leaned against the door frame and pulled off his tie before unbuttoning the uniform and didn't think anything of it when Scott hastily looked away. He didn't notice much through a wall of ecstatic relieve paired with a crushing fatigue.

"The last days were crazy, but now eeeeeeverything is great." He grinned and fluttered into his room, tossing the uniform on a chair. "The baby sleeps tonight, and everybody else, and forever," he sang. The door slammed shut and soon it was quiet again.

Scott stared into space for quite a while until he continued his breakfast. He wasn't hungry anymore, but the days at the pizzeria were exhausting and he would need his strength. Vincent was a lot better and that was good. The last days had indeed been crazy. Many things had happened, things he hadn't thought possible.

Despite his habit to talk about many topics, if not every, Scott had quickly learned to hide some... occurrences. Nobody called him Scotty. He hadn't heard that nickname in years and he was more than glad about it. Some memories should better be left buried forever. Still, he couldn't help a shudder as he cleaned up the table.

Just for a moment, Vincent had looked a lot like his twin brother.

Vincent slept until eight, the longest he had in months. But when he woke up, for the first time this week, he felt great. He threw back the light cover and marched through the flat naked to get a shower without even checking if Scott was there. The cool water was a treat for his hot skin – he had once again completely forgotten to shut the blinds this morning – but he didn't give it a second thought. He was so excited.

Mrs. Barnes had brought more of her miracle cure and he used it, just to be sure, although his knees had stopped hurting and even the bruise on his shoulder let off a bit. He just skipped breakfast, figuring he could get something at the restaurant. Also, he was pretty late already and he didn't want to miss Jenna. Today was his day. He would ask her out for breakfast, no matter if they already had a date next week or not.

Vincent changed into his second uniform – Scott had somehow managed to organize a shirt that fit a bit better – and grabbed his bag. The little music box rattled faintly inside. Jenna in the red dress. His lifesaver.

What would the real Jenna look like in such a robe? It would surely flatter her shapely curves. When it got warmer, girls wore dresses, right? Maybe he was lucky.

As he drove to the pizzeria, he whistled the tune that had accompanied him through a tense, but uneventful night.

It was almost nine when he arrived, parked the car and entered the pizzeria. To his surprise, William, George Ramirez and Molly were already cleaning up and it was relatively quiet.

"Evening," George boomed. William nodded and Molly just murmured something and turned her head away. She was once again wearing that ridiculous attire bordering on indecency, but by now she seemed to be much less confident in it.

"Are we closing earlier?", Vincent asked, after poking his head into the Show Room. The music had been turned down to a bearable volume and he could see the man who had relieved him from his post once – Garrett? Gunther? Gordon? - sweeping the floor.

"Si!", George said from right behind him. Vincent didn't jump, but froze for a second before turning around. He could hide the annoyed frown that wanted to show on his face.

"There was only a birthday booked this evening and Thursdays are usually calm. Besides," he lowered his voice to what he presumed to be a secretive manner, but was not more than a really loud whisper, "Adrian doesn't look so good."

And without any further explanation, he returned to cleaning his grill.

"Pete called in sick, Danny stayed home too, so we thought we start early," William explained. "The boss called in Gordon, but that's about it. Jenna's running around here somewhere too. And it's true, the boss doesn't look too good."

"Monet, the dishwasher doesn't empty itself," Ramirez boomed. William sighed and waved a short goodbye. Vincent left the kitchen. There was something off and he knew one person who would definitely know what. He nodded at the other part-timer, Gordon. The man gave a short nod back, but seemed a little too occupied with whatever he had been thinking. He didn't look too good either. More like he had stumbled out of bed half an hour ago.

So Pete was sick? Vincent couldn't help a little prick of guilt. Was that his fault? The boy had asked for his help, because he wanted to defend himself. Maybe he had run into someone and didn't want to show himself to Molly after it. That wouldn't be the most unusual thing.

Scott wasn't in the entrance or Kid's Cove, the Show room and all its corners were empty, and the Storage door was locked. In Party Room three Vincent found Jenna instead. She had her back turned to the door and was putting paper hats on the table in a neat row.

"Hi," he said cheerfully. This was his day. Nothing could go wrong.

Jenna spun, a little startled. But her face broke into a smile when she saw him. That was good. She was wearing new shoes. They were a stark contrast to her uniform, a bright blue, fitting her eyes and earrings.

"Hi," she said. "How are you?" She put down the last paper hat and came over to him. Vincent maneuvered them away from the door. If somebody came by, he didn't have to interrupt them immediately. He was feeling lucky, so he hugged her for greeting. Jenna didn't seem surprised, or squirm, but returned it without hesitation. Her slender body was against him in full length for a second. And she was strong.

"Great. How was your day, beautiful?" On a day when he was feeling less euphoric, he would have called himself an idiot and probably turned into a tomato, but now he didn't bat an eyelash. Jenna didn't give an indication if she had realized his words. At least she wasn't bewildered.

"Well, the usual emergencies." She frowned at the black smears on the walls. "I really hope they try to get these off during the renovation."

Vincent went along with the topic, although he would have preferred talking about her instead.

"Probably. Do you know what they will change?"

Jenna leaned her back against the wall, looking over the room. "I think they want to remodel the Show Stage. That moth-eaten curtain isn't exactly appealing for a place you eat. Means we won't have a hiding place anymore if something goes wrong. But well, the spring suits are out of order anyway. And with the new animatronics and you to check on them..." She smiled and ran her fingers over his jawline. Vincent froze, a pleasant shudder running all over him. Her touch left a tingling that wouldn't leave him the whole night.

"I should know it by now," Jenna contemplated. "I mean, look at Danny. A beard does make a huge difference."

"Do you like it?"

Jenna traced the tiny stubble once more before withdrawing her hand. It would take a while until he looked like he had. The question was if that was good or bad.

"Oh, I don't want to intrude... That's your choice." He didn't say anything, just looked apprehensive, so she added: "Fine then, if you ask me, the beard looked better." Once again she touched his cheek. Vincent leaned into it just a little. He wasn't sure if she even noticed, but she didn't take her hand away for now.

"Do you want to get breakfast tomorrow?", he asked, before he could think too much about it.

"Sure."

"Why, thank you, milady." He gingerly took her hand and kissed it.

Jenna laughed, a little pink coloring her tanned skin. "What a gentleman." She didn't withdraw her fingers from his. Could he be that lucky?

No, too much luck would have been suspicious. Outside, a door slammed and there were slow, heavy steps, weighed down by whatever misery he was in.

"We should check," Jenna said quietly. Vincent hid his disappointment and nodded. They didn't have to look far.

Scott didn't notice them. He leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. It wasn't an unusual sight, but the placid skin and dark circles under his eyes looked worse than ever.  
"Are you okay?", Jenna asked, almost running to him. He winced and straightened up. For a moment, his gaze flickered over Vincent nervously, then he concentrated on Jenna.

"Oh- uh, yeah, sort of." He brushed trough his short hair. "Just, uh, the boss..." He rubbed his eyes and gave up the charade. Where was the point in lying. "We're missing the spare keys. They were in the office, but now they're gone. The boss seems to think one of us took it. Or that we're covering up for each other or whatever. And since I'm the security manager-"

"Like hell you are," Jenna snorted. "Tell me again when the payment is better. What the hell is the matter with Adrian these days? He was never like that."

Scott shrugged his shoulders. "Vincent, good that you're here, we need all help we can get. With Danny injured and Pete sick... Damn it, thank God we'll get a break soon."

"Don't try to change the topic." Vincent kept his voice even and friendly. He didn't want to startle his friend again. "What about this key?"

"We have two keys for every door. The spare set is gone now. Adrian thinks it must have been missing since yesterday morning. The office is open, everybody might have taken it, but... he mostly suspects you two, because you were the only ones around. And I sort of brought in both of you, so we're all screwed." He looked like he wanted to curl up somewhere and just bathe in his sorrows for a while.

"Pah!", Jenna said, her voice full of spite. "I'll tell you what, if he wants to accuse me of anything he better do it to my face!"

"Well, Miss McCormick, I just wanted to do that. Scott, I think you should be helping Gordon in the Show Room instead of gossiping. Victor, please stay a while longer as well." Scott blanched even more and looked at his friends with a helpless expression. He didn't want to leave them, but...

Vincent looked him in the eyes and Scott turned around and left. An outsider might not have noticed the exchange. It was calming to know that these little things still worked. Not everything was wrong between them.

Jenna's posture was upright and her eyes were blazing in blue fire.

The old man looked smaller than the day before, despite his menacing expression. The lines in his face had not only deepened, but multiplied, and his skin had taken on a grayish tone. But the gray falcon's eyes were sharp as ever.

"What's wrong?", Jenna asked. She took the challenge without hesitation.

"I think Mr. Goldwyn already told you about the missing keys. As much as I regret it, I have to be rational here and you are the only possible perpetrators. Maybe it was a mistake, you packed them when you were daydreaming, I don't care. If they don't turn up again, it will have consequences, if I want that or not. Also, I already informed Victor about it -"

"My name is Vincent," he interrupted. The words were a growl, much sharper than he had intended them to be.

"Of course. Excuse the mistake." Adrian's gaze never wavered from Vincent's face and for some reason he had to think of the cold, black eyes of the Marionette. Of Alex' dark eyes, full of fear and hate.

"I didn't think I would have to repeat it, but keep personal things out of work, especially when they interrupt others. How is Scott, by the way? He claims he is fine, but didn't want to say what happened." Adrian didn't give them time to answer. "Anyway, this goes for everything. I told you in the beginning, Victor – Vincent, I mean. It's lovely that you found each other, but I cannot permit this here."

The cameras. Adrian had been spying on them all along. He had seen the incident with Scott, maybe even figured out what it had been about. And he had seen him and Jenna just a few minutes ago. A flare of rage cursed up, but Vincent managed to keep his calm demeanor.

"What are you talking about?", Jenna inquired. The anger hadn't left her, not even diminished.

"Well, as you can see, Vincent and Scott had some... argument. I'm not bigoted, don't you think that, but please, this is business. Take your romantic tensions somewhere else."

Jenna blinked at him, then looked at Vincent. "Uh. Okay? I... I didn't know that. Sorry."

"I do not like quarrels between my employees. Talk about it so it doesn't interrupt the work atmosphere. Now to you, Jenna..." Vincent was speechless at this impertinence. Was Adrian actively trying to put something between him and Jenna? This goddamn bastard!

He was so busy fuming that he didn't hear what Adrian said to Jenna and then the old man had already vanished into the office again. Jenna was looking at him for who knew how long until he finally snapped back into reality again and managed to open his hands. His fingernails had dug into the skin close to making it bleed and the motion sent a wave of pain through his hands.

"Uh... Maybe, maybe it would be better if you and Scott talked about this first," Jenna said. "I'm at a friend's tomorrow anyway, so..." She turned to the end of the corridor, clearly uncomfortable.

Vincent wished he could just pull her into his arms and kiss her. That would be a signal. Instead, he feebly tried to grab her arm, just brushing it with his fingers. "Jenna..."

"It's okay. Next week Tuesday, right?"

Nothing of this was okay. For a moment, he was angry at Scott for being such a sentimental fool. But that wasn't his fault at all. Who really had control over his feelings? No, this was Adrian's doing.

Vincent caught up to Jenna next to the second party room. "Jenna, wait. Let me explain."

"I'm sort of tired, let's wrap this up."

The rejection couldn't be more clear and Vincent had to take his defeat. It wasn't his style, but suddenly he felt so desperate he could have cried there on the spot. It was so unfair! Everything and everyone didn't do what it was supposed to. It was his day, nothing should go wrong.  
Adrian would pay for this.

Gordon was done with the Show Room, Vika would come in the next day. The stereotype security guard was the only one that was eating, too. Loudly. Vincent stayed at the other end of the room so he didn't do anything stupid, frustrated as he was. Adrian was watching them over the cameras now. He just knew it. Vincent fought the urge to flip the camera off. He sat on the Show Stage, the animatronics a vague, distant threat behind him and watched the others. Jenna was talking to Scott. Neither of them looked particularly involved, so it was probably just small talk. Gordon talked with Ramirez while he ate, which was a sight nobody needed in his life.

"You okay?", William asked as he passed by on his way out. "You look kinda gloomy."

"Things didn't go as planned," Vincent mumbled.

"Sorry to hear." When he got no response, the assistant cook shrugged his shoulders and made his goodbyes with everyone.

He ran straight into Molly's little brother, Ethan, when he opened the door to the foyer. The child almost landed on his butt, staring up at William with huge, frightened eyes. Then he ran on, to the kitchen, where his sister just came out of, suddenly dressed into much more conservative clothes. So she was playing some kind of game with her parents, it seemed, and Ethan seemed to be part of it. He hadn't sold her out yet, at least.

"Mum says you shouldn't be working so late."

"She sent you here alone, at this time of day, just to tell me that?"

Ethan avoided her gaze for a moment. His eyes always jumped about, but now it was even worse than usual. "Can I see them? The spring suits?"

Molly usually behaved the same nervous way, but now her demeanor changed to that of a strict older sister. "Like hell! Not a chance. These things are horrible! I should never have told you!"

The boy drooped, but didn't talk back. Maybe he knew it wouldn't help him. He took Molly's hand and shot Vincent a nervous look as they walked to the door. For Jenna, he managed a tin smile, and he all but tr´hew himself at Scott. Gordon and Ramirez left together, maybe seeing the suspicious glances Ethan shot in their direction. Eventually, Molly led Ethan out and they were only three.

Jenna basically walked Scott over to the Show Stage. From their faces, that was the only way anything would have happened.

"Well then," Jenna said. "I gotta be off before Danny does something stupid again. See you." She hugged both, but not with the same kind of openness as before. And then they were alone.

It was quiet except for the A/C. And of course, the quiet, but distinct sounds of the cameras. How the hell had things turned out like that in the matter of a few days?

"Jen... Jenna told me about what Adrian said," Scott eventually got out. He sat down next to Vincent on the edge of the Stage. "I don't want this to be one of those super-awkward conversations. I don't know what he's thinking, but don't let me stand between you and Jenna. We're still friends, right?"

"Of course we are," Vincent sighed. "And as a friend, I tell you to go home and get some sleep."

"You want to get rid of me?" Scott slipped off the stage and actually grinned at him. It looked fake, but at least he gave it a try. "Whatever. See you tomorrow. And if you have the time, look for those keys."

"Sure. Where would they be on a normal day?"

"File cabinet, top drawer." With one last wave, Scott marched out. Maybe he didn't realize Vincent could see him in the fading light in front of the doors when his shoulders dropped and he looked every inch the pile of misery he had to be. But that was Scott – always cheerful, always trying not to bother anyone. The perfect victim to anyone who enjoyed causing pain and distress.

 _A person like Victor._ He tried to ignore the memory, and failed.

 _Remember that day Scott vanished for hours and you found him way off the trails in the woods? Somebody brought him there, tied his hands behind his back. He claimed he didn't know what had happened in between, but he was crying when you found him and he moved like he was hurt._

 _You knew he was lying, didn't you? But his pleading was so heart-breaking you never said a word. You covered it up with a little camping trip and nobody asked any questions. You only ever caught him flinching away from Victor. Even from you when he didn't recognize you immediately. He cried every night, every time he thought he was alone, until you or Angie comforted him. But he never told you what haunted him._

 _What do you think happened?_

The clock ticked on steadily. Half past ten. Vincent sighed and stretched his legs. God, if things were going so slowly, he would fall asleep and that would mean his death.

Why the hell was Adrian staying here so long?

There was no helping it now. Vincent grabbed his things and went into the storage. Maybe if Adrian got bored of watching him work on the toy animatronics, he would leave. He couldn't safely put up the music box with Adrian around. There was still time.

Vincent took on Freddy first. He really doubted the animatronics itself were part of this. However Alex had managed to give them 'life', they were just robots. So the new ones were dangerous as well, although they hadn't made a move yet. Who had treated them like this? Jenna was the only real possibility, but what for what reason?

For a while, he just let the engineer in him take control. He loved his job, after all. Machines were his passion, taking them apart, creating something new, that was what he loved. In the meanwhile, his thoughts could wander off.

He hadn't come one step closer to solving the mystery of Alex' death. The photos were his only clue, but what did they say? Why had someone blackened out the face of her grandfather? And why did Adrian have them?

Ridiculous as it sounded, by now Vincent was inclined to believe the old man was somehow wrapped up in this. He could forget about Pierce, now that he knew Adrian had the original photographs. It all came down to a lot of 'how's. How had Adrian gotten the photos in the first place? How was he involved in this? And how was Vincent supposed to find out anything useful?

He sat back and looked around for the first time in a while, freezing at the sight of the clock. Ten to midnight. He didn't have much more time.

Vincent staggered to his feet, wavering. His legs had fallen asleep and now his knees were reporting back the remains of their injuries as well. He wiped his hands on a piece of cloth and grabbed his bag. This would be close.

Cursing his forgetfulness, the passion that made him forget everything around and Adrian in particular, he limped to the office, trying to ignore the tingling burn in his extremities as they came back to life, and slammed the door open.

"Ah, Vincent," Adrian said, looking up from the desk. Vincent blinked at him, too flustered to think straight.

"You're still here... boss?"

The old man stood up and stretched. "Oh dear, looks like I forgot the time. I'll take my leave then. I hope you are not angry – I lead this restaurant and I have to take care everybody stays in line. It's nothing personal." Adrian interrupted himself with a cough that made him stagger. He rubbed his chest.

"Of course not," Vincent said pleasantly. One single blow could easily kill this bastard. He was weak, and sick, he might just get a heart attack from the shock. He deserved it, after all, right? And it would be fun to see his surprise.

 _Think about how shocked he would be. He would struggle. Maybe you can relieve him of these goddamn perceptive eyes._

Vincent put a smile on while he pushed down the voice. It was almost his brother's voice. If he had to describe it, he would have to say it was a mixture of them both. But that didn't matter. Victor could go die in a ditch and Vincent wouldn't have bothered showing up to the funeral.

Adrian took what felt like an eternity to get his things together. A bunch of keys, a wallet. The clock ticked on. Midnight was rushing forward, and he hadn't even started to set up the music box. Adrian couldn't possibly know about the animatronics. It was just a scheme to make him nervous.

"It's a lot to ask, but there are only two birthdays planned tomorrow and both requested that Puppet isn't used. Would you be so kind to bring its box into the Safe Room? There's a cart."

"Of course,", Vincent promised. "No problem at all."

The old man made his slow way to the front doors. He had lost his usually fierce stride. Vincent needed all his willpower not to overtake him and seem too eager to get rid of his boss. Somewhere in the city, the bell tower struck midnight. The same moment, the A/C went offline and the lights out.

"Have a good night, my friend," Adrian said with a hearty smile. He handed Vincent the keys and began to walk down the sidewalk to where ever he lived.

Vincent all but slammed the doors shut, locked them and sprinted back into the Show Room. Somehow, he managed not to bump into a door or chair until he stopped in the Prize Corner. His eyes had not yet adjusted to the dim lights from the night sky. Desperately, he rummaged his back for the flashlight. It was – where else could it be? - in the furthest corner. The beam blinded him once more and he blinked for almost a minute, until he could make out more than vague shapes. Maybe Jenna's question about his eyes hadn't been so far off. He had never been able to cope with bright lights.

Angry about wasting time with such trivialities, he directed the beam across the damn plushies and stupid prizes into the depth of the corner.

Puppet's box was open and empty.

The temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees.

Adrian had made it. He was locked in with the animatronics. No chance of escape. Of course, he could always leave, but that would mean more trouble for Scott and everyone else. Alone against five of them, maybe even six – with Toy Chica complete she might get added into the mix as well.

 _Don't panic._

He had no idea if he could get Alex back to sleep when she was up, but it was his only chance. With only the beam of the flashlight, setting up the tiny box was much harder. Maybe he could include it in the attraction and find a way to wind it from the office. So he had another door behind himself and them. Vincent's hands froze.

Door.

Doors.

Had he locked the door to the Storage? The one to the Show Room was definitely open.

BANG!

Something clattered to the floor in the Main hall. Vincent lost his grip on the flashlight. Luckily, it didn't go out, just rolled away. He hastily retrieved it, just to stare into Puppet's hollow eyes. Vincent gasped, somehow stifling a scream. The Marionette didn't respond. It was hanging off the cart system, limp, dead.

Asleep.

A small smile spread on Vincent's face that turned into a short, relieved bark of laughter. They hadn't put it in again. That was why the box was open. Idiots.

He returned to the music box and finally the melancholic, sweet tune wafted through the rooms like a pleasant scent, bringing a wave of relief. Leaning on the Prize Counter, Vincent took the time to close his eyes and wipe sweat off his face. He had made it.

He checked the box three more times, taking care the device worked and only then dared to check on the rest of the pizzeria. To his relief, the Storage was still dark and without movement. He locked it as often as possible and also closed the Party Rooms and Bathrooms. Just to be sure.

The lights in the Office blinded him when he opened he door. Vincent cursed, shielding his eyes and staggered over to the table. Bright lights had always been a nuisance, but never that badly, right? It was Victor who always complained, who needed thick glasses until he somehow managed to get the money for some experimental laser treatment that improved his sight.

Finally, Vincent could let himself fall into the chair. The camera in Party Room 3 was directed right at the spot he and Jenna had been standing in. There was no camera for the hall in between the Party Rooms, but it shouldn't be difficult to hear a conversation through a door standing ajar. And of course, the Show Stage camera. Adrian had to be a lip-reader or something like that.

The son of a bitch would pay for tampering with their lives.

Bonnie, Chica and Freddy didn't seem to have moved. Thank God. It was about time these old models got trashed. Last, Vincent checked on the Storage. The toy animatronics were in their proper place. Nothing unusual so far.

It was half past twelve.

Vincent leaned back and closed his eyes to ease the glare of the lamps overhead. He wouldn't fall asleep or anything. There was too much adrenaline in his blood for that. Too many things were running through his head.

Adrian. Alex. And now this old story. After a while, Scott had gotten better. He had gone back to his usual cheer and they never talked about that week again. Angie tried it once or twice after Vincent had given up, but then other things required their attention. They forgot. Vincent wouldn't open that box again, even more than ten years later. It brought back different memories, things he wanted to forget. Angie didn't deserve it, didn't deserve to be forgotten, to be silenced, but there was no other way. Life was cruel, and it went on, no matter what happened.

Checking the cameras, going into the Show Room to wind the music box, going back. At three, Vincent decided he was sick of sitting around and waiting for something to happen. He didn't need any cameras as long as Alex was sleeping, and the harsh lights dug into his eyes every time he entered the office. He wasn't afraid of the dark. That was ridiculous. The dark was not an enemy.

He dove into the dark and silent pizzeria, armed with a spare flashlight, the keys and a glowing watch, following the soft tune from a past that never turned into the present. He had nothing to do, so he could as well bring the Marionette into the Safe Room when he was already at it. There was no cart standing around, and he needed half an hour to find it in the dark. It stood in the Safe Room, misplaced and devoid of logic.

As untidy as he was, Vincent decided he didn't like the chaos in the room and it was something completely new to clean up in the dark. Eventually, he was satisfied and brought the cart to the Prize Corner, just in time to wind the music box. It looked like this night was another breeze. Tomorrow, he would be here early and talk to Jenna. He would make himself look as perfect as he could. Adrian hadn't ruined it yet.

He fixed the flashlights to the counter, locking them between two heavy boxes with prizes, and heaved Puppet's box onto the cart. That was, he tried to. It was massive wood and way too heavy for someone – even a fairly strong, young man like him – to lift alone. But giving up was out of the question. It took an eternity, but somehow he managed to get one edge on the cart, and manged to get in on with one final yank he would probably feel for a week. The box was less smooth in every place the kids didn't reach.

Vincent leaned against the Prize Counter, bathed in sweat, panting, his heart galloping, and could pluck the splinters from his fingers.

"Low budget, it is," he murmured. But still, he could be satisfied.

Something crashed down on the Show Stage. Vincent jumped at the sound and was half the way out the Prize Corner when his ankle got caught at the cart. He would have fallen if his hand hadn't smashed on the Prize Counter with a bang that hurt as much as it was loud. The momentum pushed him in another direction and he slumped over the counter. Vincent stayed there for thirty seconds until he was sure he could stand. He had gotten worse blows throughout his life, but not many that unexpected.

His hands didn't waver when he grabbed the flashlights, flicking one of them off and storing it in his belt. The sky was lighting up already. It was almost four. Few things could still go wrong.

Casting a wary glance at the still-hanging Puppet, he wound the music box again, just to be sure. Then he went to investigate the noise. He could still hear crunching noises and – it made his heart skip a beat – the whispering of a child. Vincent shuddered, but didn't slow down.

The Fazbear band hadn't moved an inch. Alex slept, they wouldn't bother him tonight. But the noise was coming from the Show Stage nevertheless.

He didn't see the glow until he was standing right in front of the Stage. The curtain was thick and didn't let any light through, except for a tiny crack at the bottom.

A child giggled and another voice answered.

Vincent set every step with careful deliberation. The door wasn't locked and he could sneak into the kitchen without a sound. Just to be sure, he tried the back door. It was open. He hadn't locked it, but was fairly sure William had mentioned locking it before he left. A ring of keys was lying on one of the counters, the exact mirror of the one on his belt.

This puzzle would be solved soon. Jenna and Scott would be out of trouble, not to forget himself as well. _Some things solve themselves_ , Angie had liked to say. In the end, she had been wrong, of course.

The door to the backstage was ajar. Vincent pushed it open carefully, just an inch, and peaked out.

They had brought bright lights that blinded Vincent and stung in his eyes. It took a while until he could see. Much earlier, he recognized the voices.

"This is so cool!", Ethan whispered. "Molly was right!"

There was a pause. "What did she say?", Pete asked.

The little boy couldn't stand still, but that didn't stop him from talking. "She asked me if I liked you. I said sure, because you're nice. And then she said she likes you too, but you're always so... so... dis.. distant?" And then he added, like the annoying know-it-all he was: "She's afraid you doesn't like her."

Vincent blinked and his eyes finally adjusted to the brightness of their flashlights.

Pete was wearing the Golden Freddy suit. He was a scrawny boy, without apparent muscle, but somehow he had managed to recoil the animatronic parts without letting Freddy fall over. Then he had slipped into the suit and was stretching his limbs now. His face was invisible behind the Freddy head, but his uncomfortable murmuring was not fully blocked out.

Ethan was running around him like an excited rabbit, admiring the suit from all angles with bright glowing eyes.  
"You can't tell anyone we were here, okay?", Pete said. "Not even Molly."

"Sure," the child promised.

"No, seriously," Pete said. He grabbed Ethan's arm to keep him from running around.

Ethan grinned up at him. "I know. I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say that. Just keep quiet about this. No matter what."

"No matter what," Ethan promised, and wrapped his pinkie around that of Golden Freddy, if you could call it that.

"I'd say so too."

The two kids spun at Vincent's voice. Pete froze and it didn't need much imagination to picture his face. Ethan stared at Vincent for several seconds until he took a step back. Freed from his paralysis, he dashed around Pete and hid behind the animatronic's legs.

Vincent stepped into the room, somewhere between trying to be friendly, but strict and a menacing figure in front of intruders. He swung the spare ring of keys around his finger once before putting it back on his belt. "I guess now we know where these went."

Pete took a step back, almost pushing Ethan to the ground. "M-Mr. Vincent. What... what are you doing here?" The words were so quiet the mask almost muted them.

Vincent raised an eyebrow at him. "That's what I wanted to ask you." He should be angry at these kids. Some part of him was. They had endangered not only his position, but Jenna and Scott as well. And even more, that suit could easily kill the stupid boy who had climbed inside it.

"Anyway, we'll deal with that later. Pete, stop moving like that." The boy froze and now seemed to realize the creaking sound of Golden Freddy wasn't supposed to be there.

"E-Ethan, step back," Pete commanded. The little boy brushed Golden Freddy's leg once, but fled when Vincent came closer to examine the suit. Pete was a slender, weak boy and he hadn't managed to get the locks in a safe position. They were holding – for now.

"What's wrong?", Ethan asked, his eyes wide with excitement and horror. "Pete, are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine," Pete said after an audible gulp. He was trying his best to keep it together.

Vincent's gaze brushed over the hand crank. He considered it for a moment. No. Putting even more pressure on the spring locks would probably cause them to break. He was fairly strong, but the tension of the mechanics would just rip it from his hands.

"You're a blasted idiot, you know that?", Vincent said absently. The biggest part of his brain was frantically searching for a solution while trying to block out Ethan's annoying questions.

When Ethan asked "Do you know what to do?" for the umpteenth time, Vincent just had to take a second to preserve his mental stability. "Yes," he barked at the boy. "Now shut up." Ethan jumped at the harsh tone, but thankfully fell quiet.

They needed to get the head off first. At least Pete would

 _(have a slim chance at surviving)_

be a bit calmer if he got his head out of the tight and stuffy mask.

"Pete, calm down. Shaking doesn't make it better. And try not to cry until I get you out out of this," Vincent commanded. The suit rattled from the boy's violent trembling, making the details blur. Vincent cursed to himself. His eyes prickled horribly. The fast changes between light and darkness in the previous hours had not improved his sight. Pete gave a quiet, strained sob, but did his best to hold still.

"I... I just wanted to..."

"Impress Molly. I know."

"I love her," Pete croaked. "She never notices me, but I always saw her... Oh God, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I was an idiot. Can you get it off? Please, I don't want to die." Step by step, his fear turned into an outright panic. It was only a matter of minutes until he freaked out completely.

"What's wrong with it?", Ethan cawed.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?", Vincent hissed. "Sit down and be quiet. I'm trying to work." He couldn't think straight with this brat babbling. He would pull off the mask first. It wasn't connected to anything and with a second person helping, it shouldn't cause fatal tremors in the rest of the suit.

"Do as he says, Ethan," Pete said, trying to keep his voice even and friendly. "I'll be just -" He broke off with a gasp right as the suit gave a quiet _pling_. His body jerked once, then he was still again. The mask muffled his voice a bit, but it couldn't silence the pain mixed with terror in his voice. "Can you get it off? Please hurry." There was something leaking out of the eye holes. The boy had started to cry, quietly, without a sign to the outside world.

"Pete, breathe. I'll get you out of there. Just stand still and let me work. How old are you?"

"What?"

"I asked how old you are." Vincent went to the back side of the suit, examining the cut down the back. Opening them wasn't the problem. They just had to be fast.

"S-Sixteen."

"Good. What's your full name?"

"P-Peter Fairchild."

"You're in high school, right? Any siblings?"

"N-No."

"What's your favorite subject?"

"Calculus. And biology."

"I always loved calculus too. Okay, Pete, I'm going to open the suit now. You need to be ready to hop out. Fast."

For several seconds, the teenager didn't get anything out except for incomprehensible choking sounds. Then he whispered: "I-I'm not sure if I can. I-i think my leg is... one of the springs is stuck in my leg."

Vincent let out a frustrated growl. "Then this will hurt, I'm afraid. Better than dying, right?"

A few meters away, Ethan was observing them. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong to deserve such bad words. Things like that easily startled him, but he had refused to cry for once. The suit was great, but Pete obviously wanted to get out, so he should better help. The little boy grabbed the crank with both hands and pulled it off the crate it was lying on. It hid the floor with a loud _thump_ , making Pete and Vincent jump. The night guard shot the little boy a glare.

"Adrian said I should try to... impress someone close to her... I thought..." Pete drew a shaky breath, trying to hold still.

"I know. But that was one hell of a poor choice of way, kid."

Ethan began to drag the crank over to them. It was heavy and he wasn't exactly strong. Just as he had reached them, it got stuck in one of the cracks between the floor boards.

"You need this," Ethan said firmly. Vincent had the irrational urge to slap the child. This was a delicate thing and he couldn't use this little know-it-all interrupting him.

Ethan gave one last pull, and the crank was freed from the crack. The tip brushed Vincent's calf, making his knee buckle. Somehow, he managed to stay on his feet and not lean on the Golden Freddy suit. Ethan was ripped forward by the momentum and crashed into Pete, falling to the ground. The crank crashed down on his foot and Ethan shrieked, shrill and short.

For a moment, nothing happened, not even a breath. Then Pete straightened up to a cacophony of clicking sounds, like a busy telegraph. The breaking spring locks were strangely quiet.

Golden Freddy fell to his knees, red drops splashing everywhere. Pete screamed as the animatronic parts dug into his body, tearing it to shreds. Ethan started wailing.

Pete coughed, a wet, agonized sound accompanied by a disgusting crunch as his ribs broke. "Help," he croaked. "Someone -"

Blood oozed from the suit and the clicking was almost drowned out by the sounds of his fight for life. In between coughing, screams, and audible crunching sounds, the boy actually tried to get out of the suit, only making it worse. "Take it off," he sobbed.

Vincent had been frozen for the first few seconds, but then he grabbed the crank and fell to his knees next to the dying Pete. He could recoil the animatronic parts manually.

"Ethan, you need to help Pete out of the suit." There was no answer. All the time, some shrill screeching was overlaying the scene, like the buzz of the A/C, just much more bothering.

The Golden Freddy suit writhed and jerked, giving Vincent no real chance to lock the crank into the mechanics. He tried to open the back, but the mechanics all but snapped at him. A reflex prevented him from maybe getting his hand stuck. Nothing prevented him from seeing broken bones, entrails and mangled flesh, all mixed together with the gray metal of the endoskeleton.

Pete's pleading had turned into a series of coughs, groans and whimpers. A pool of blood had gathered under him, soaking the golden fur and Vincent's jeans.

And then it was over. Pete lay still and after a few seconds, the clicking sounds ceased as well. It was quiet except for this blasted noise like a rusty door stuck in a loop.

The crank clattered out of Vincent's hand. He didn't notice. He couldn't turn his eyes away from the broken thing that had been a human just minutes ago. Carefully, like cradling a child, he tried to remove the mask. It was stuck, and when the jaws opened he saw why: Thin metal rods, two on each side, had dug through the boy's jaw into his skull. His eyes were open, still intact and very human. The last tears spilled over his torn cheeks and mingled with blood and whatever other bodily fluids had been freed from his cells.

"I'm sorry," Vincent said. His voice was even, bland, without any emotion. There were too many of them fighting for the lead that he could express any.

The sound of the rusty door ceased when Ethan crawled over to the suit and started shaking it. "Pete! Pete, wake up! You can't sleep now!" In his fear and anger, he started hitting the soaked fabric, smearing himself with blood. The wet sound of fabric, flesh and shattered bones was sickening, but the boy didn't seem to notice. "Wake up! We need to go home before Mum notices!"

Vincent's eyes slowly focused on the hysteric child, as if he was seeing him for the first time. Then he slapped Ethan across the face. The little boy flew back, hitting the ground a meter away, although the motion had been almost casual. Vincent stood up and walked over to him.

"That's your fault," he said. Ethan whimpered, holding his cheek. The skin had turned a fiery red. A small trickle of blood ran from his nose. The child wanted to crawl back, but when he tried to put weight on his foot, he screamed and froze, one leg half stretched out in the air.

"Ow," he whimpered. His eyes jumped between the still suit and Vincent towering over him, but he didn't move.

"Your foot might be broken," Vincent said. He hunkered down and picked Ethan up in his arms. "Let's check on that." He gave the child an absent smile. Ethan's eyes were as big as saucers, but he didn't struggle. He did try to get another look at the Golden Freddy suit though.

"What about Pete? We can't leave him here! Mum's gonna be so angry!"  
"I don't think Pete still cares," Vincent said bluntly. His trousers were soaked in blood, weighing them down. Where should he go? He would leave a red trail everywhere. It would be impossible to clean up in time.

He sat Ethan down on a crate. "Don't move too much. I'll be right back." Ethan did as he was told until the night guard returned from the kitchen. The little boy was sitting there, sniffing, staring at the pool of blood, choked by the stench of bodily fluids and organs torn to pieces to reveal human waste.

"Will Pete be okay?", Ethan whispered. "He will be, right? Molly likes him. They can be friends. He won't get punished, right?"

"Oh, no, he won't." Vincent smiled at the child, both hands behind his back. The cool steel felt like a long-lost friend. His thumb ran over the edge with the pleasant sensation of almost-pain. "Believe me, where Pete is now, nobody will be able to reach him. No pain, no pressure, no fear. It's a beautiful place."

He stopped in front of Ethan. The child looked up at him, keeping his foot well away from the crate, his eyes big and scared and filled with tears. "Mr. Vincent, what are you doing? Where's the first-aid-kit? Molly said-"

Vincent's knee shot forward and crunched the small foot against the front of the crate. Ethan screamed, a piercing sound that felt like it could easily shatter his eardrums. It only lasted for a few seconds until the child curled up against the wall, new horror flooding his small face. Vincent bent down to him, revealing a kitchen knife behind his back. His usual friendly smile had been replaced by a wide, evil grin and his eyes were wide open, sparkling with joy.

"That's your fault," he said softly. "Pete died because you were a silly little boy. And for such a crime, you need to be punished."

Ethan flinched away and narrowly avoided the knife. The tip dug into the wall, just above his shoulder. "N-No," he whimpered. "I didn't... why are you doing this?"  
"Why?", the purple-haired man asked. He laughed, ugly and evil. "It's been far too long, that's why. Hiding, suppressed... weak. But now I'm back. You want to know why you? You did this. You killed the stupid kid and now here we are, back to having fun." He grabbed Ethan's neck and lifted him up with one hand, just to smash him down to the floor, right next to Pete's mangled remains in the suit.

The little boy was easily afraid, but he wasn't stupid. His instincts took over and he scrambled to his feet, trying to run. A strong hand grabbed his neck and then a burning pain seared through his side. Ethan screamed. He hit the floor again and this time, he couldn't move. Vincent held him down, ignoring the feeble attempts at escape.

Ethan whimpered as the knife opened a lovely little line on his forehead. The blood was just a drop compared to their surroundings, of course, but it stood out like a beacon. Cut after cut, he decorated the smeared, sticky skin. The screams were delightful. This little coward was more of a fighter than strong, sweet Alex had been.

"What do I do with you afterwards?", Vincent contemplated. "I can't keep you here and I don't have much time before the police could start to suspect something."

Ethan managed to slap him across the face. The man's head whipped around. His eyes were burning with an insane anger and glee when grabbed the little boy's wrist. The hand had left a red smear on his face. His fingers tightened and he twisted until he heard the satisfying crack of breaking bones. Ethan screamed and grew limp. He ceased all efforts to struggle. His breath was a labored wheeze, interrupted by sobs. The little boy was at the end of his strength.

The purple man traced the cuts with his fingers. The blood was getting cold on his skin. There was no more time. "Too bad," he sighed. "But our play time is over already. What a shame, I had so many good ideas." Ethan couldn't even scream anymore when the knife slowly dug into his side. He coughed, tasting metal. A moment later, the darkness came. His pain dulled and then vanished. The last thing he saw was that horrible grin. The grinning man, more a demon than human. And a dark shape behind him, just a shadow, formed like his beloved Golden Freddy.


	7. Chapter 6

So I just realized I have uploaded two more chapters on deviantArt and completely forgot about this. So there you go. Sorry for the long delay.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Vincent picked up the lifeless body. It hardly weighed more than forty pounds. Now what?

He had to cross the kitchen to reach the Show Room. There was not enough time to get blood out of the curtain and the remains of Pete hadn't splashed that far.

He would have to hurry. The sky was already lighting up.

"Screw you stupid thing," he snarled at the Puppet. The music box had long since stopped playing its melancholic tune, but there was no movement from the animatronics or that blasted Marionette. They better stayed away. Anyone trying to touch him would regret it.

Ethan was a lot smaller than the Puppet and easily fit into the box. Then he unhooked the blasted bag of sand and canvas from its strings and loaded it on the cart as well before rolling it into the Safe Room. He would have to keep everyone away until he could clean up this mess. The Safe Room was on no map, it should be just forgotten in the chaos. For now, he just needed to erase the bloody marks on the cart and swipe up the trail he had left. He should have thought about it earlier. The time frame was already so small.

Vincent returned to the backstage on the path he had obviously taken and took off the bloody clothes there. Barefooted, almost naked, he filled a basket with water and wiped away the drips and splashes his feet and clothes had left. The water turned a deep, beautiful shape of red roses. Unfortunately, he had no time to admire it. After rinsing out the basket and drying it off carefully, he put on his clothes again. They stuck to his skin, cold and heavy, tainting his hands crimson again.

Vincent looked down at the now brownish spring suit. He knelt down and shook it a few times, as if trying to wake him.

"Unfortunate for you, kiddo," he said with a grin. For a few moments, he went over his plan again. It was easy, it was foolproof.

Vincent jumped to his feet and sprinted to the office, ignoring the animatronics he passed by. He dialed 911. The shaking of his hands was so authentic he needed three attempts to punch in the number.

"This is 911, what is you emergency?" It was a woman's voice, calm and professional.

"H-Hello, this is... I'm at Freddy Fazbear's, there been an accident, please, come quick, oh God, there's so much blood." His voice turned to a distorted whimper and broke.

"Please stay calm, Sir, the police is on the way. What kind of accident?"

Vincent ran a bloody hand through his hair. "The- The spring suits. Somebody climbed into a mascot costume and the locks broke, oh God it's horrible, I think he's dead, he doesn't move, there's blood everywhere."

"Sir, what is your name?"

"V-Vincent. Vincent de Briss."

"Where are you now? Are you with the victim?"

"N-No. I'm in the office. I'm a night guard here, you know?" He breathed out a helpless laugh. "I'm supposed to watch this place, but there's no camera on the backstage and kitchen... I didn't... I couldn't help him."

"The paramedics and police are on the way. I have to ask you to unlock the doors for them."

"O-Of course." Vincent staggered to his feet and ignored the woman on the phone. The speaker fell into its cradle with a clack not unlike the breaking spring locks.

He made his way to the front doors, step by step, and reached them in time to scare the hell out of a young deputy that happened to be going first. Vincent unlocked the doors and the pizzeria filled with uniforms and paramedics faster than one could say 'Pizza'. He directed them to the Stage and the body, but his eyes never focused on any face. He got a blanket that was way too warm for this weather and a glass water and a towel to wipe his hands. Eventually, after about three people running out with their faces tinted green, an elderly man with military-style blond hair sat down opposite of him. They had led Vincent into one of the Party Rooms, away from most of the blood, and given him spare clothes that were too big.

"Detective Donovan," the man introduced himself before opening his notepad. "I'm really sorry, but I'll have to ask you some questions."

Vincent didn't look up from the black and white checkered floor, but nodded.

"Can you describe the events? When did you notice there was someone on the backstage?"

Vincent rubbed his temples. There was a long pause. "When he started screaming."

The detective hesitated before continuing. "Please... describe the events."

"I was in the office. There's a camera system, but none for the kitchen, that's the back door, and... and the backstage." He had to clear his throat. Donovan leaned forward to make out anything. Vincent's voice was barely a whisper. "And... then I heard someone scream. I went to investigate and... he was there, w-writhing like a fish and I heard these horrible sounds... I can hear them now. Forever."

"How could an intruder enter?"

"A set of spare keys was stolen yesterday," Vincent stated. "The boss asked us about it."

"Do you know the victim?"

"No."

Donovan made a significant pause before he asked the next question. "How did you know it was a male then? There's not much to see in the suit."

"He screamed. He heard my steps and pleaded me to take it off, to save him." Vincent buried his face in his hands. "I couldn't do anything. What was I supposed to do? Oh God..."

Donovan sat back. He usually didn't get so close, but the desperation of this young man was heartbreaking. The newbies usually threw up – but they had volunteered for the job. This boy hadn't. Donovan put a hand on his shoulder. The tremors ran all the way through his arm up to his own. Vincent flinched away, startled, then slumped again.

"What did you do afterwards?", Donovan asked quietly.

Another long pause. "I'm... not sure. I tried to get him out of there... I really tried. I'm an engineer, you know? I... I should know how these things work. But I couldn't. And then it was so cold and... I ran to the office and called 911."

"You did nothing else in between?"

Vincent only shrugged his shoulders. Donovan flipped his notepad close and stood up. "Thank you, Sir. We might have to contact you at some point in the future, but that's it for now. Maybe you should go and get some rest."

Another cop, the young deputy that had seen the blood-smeared Vincent first, came in and whispered something to Detective Donovan. He nodded and the deputy vanished again.

"I'm sorry, but I have another question. The victim has been identified as one Peter Fairchild. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Vincent raised his head and the detective didn't wince at his empty eyes only because he had seen it too often already. Maybe his wife had always been right. This was no job you could do for long and continue to sleep soundly.

"N-No. Unless... Oh no..." A shudder ran through his scrawny body and the strange violet eyes widened in unspeakable horror.

"What?"

"We-we have a part-timer, a high schooler. Everybody just calls him Pete, I don't know his full name... Please tell me it's not him. Why should he... he knows how dangerous the spring suits are..." The boy buried his face in his hands again.

"So the company knew this might happen if anyone used these... spring suits you called them?"

"That's why they were taken out of service. Nobody was allowed to use them." Donovan couldn't suppress a wince at the other voice. He turned to the door to see a short, chubby young man with close-cropped brown hair and the attempt at a beard. His face was almost as pale as the night guard's but his expression that of resolve and determination. Otherwise, he looked just scared.

"And you are?", Donovan asked, suppressing a sigh. Nobody was allowed at the crime scene, he had told the deputies a million times. And now this kid interrupted the questioning, too.

The young man didn't stop but walked up to the detective. "Scott Goldwyn, I'm the security manager." Donovan raised an eyebrow. That kid didn't look older than his own son who just finished high school. Scott ignored him and knelt down in front of Vincent.

"They already told me what happened." He shot a glance at Donovan. "I've been asking the management for security cams on the back door for years. It's not your fault."

Vincent blinked at him, his eyes focusing on a person for the first time. "Is it Pete? It's him, isn't it? I thought I knew the voice." Scott laid an arm around his shoulders and Vincent just slumped into the embrace. He was really tired all of a sudden. It had been a long night.

"I'm afraid so," Scott murmured. "Detective, was that all? I can answer your questions, but I think Vincent should go home and get some distraction."

Donovan nodded. "Of course. Mr. De Briss, we might contact you later on. Please stay in the city for now."

"Sure." Vincent staggered to his feet, refusing to lean on his friend. Scott didn't look so good. The soft-hearted fool was holding up pretty well. But he had probably not seen the mess on the backstage. The purple man covered his smile with a suppressed sob. Scott led him out, past deputies spying on them with interest and the first spectators from the direct neighborhood.

"Can you drive or should I bring you home?", Scott asked.

Vincent wiped his face. "My car is behind the building. I'll go home and... take a shower." He had wanted to say _make breakfast_ , but that would have been unrealistic. He was tired from the adrenaline rush, but that was about it. Just wash off all traces and get some rest. And dream sweat dreams of blood and dying lights.

Scott nodded. Now that they were away from the suspicious eyes of the police, Scott's courage and professionalism faltered like a card house. He sat on the shade-cooled trunk of Vincent's car and stared at the ground for almost a minute.

His voice was that of a beaten child. "How the hell could Pete get such an idiotic idea? He saw what happened to Danny. How do I explain that to anyone?"

 _You'll think of something. You always do. Now get off my car._

Vincent patted his shoulder, but didn't say anything. Scott leaned against him and Vincent forced himself to return the comforting gesture from before. Scott had his eyes closed and didn't see the disgusted snarl crossing his face for a second. What a romantic, unworldly, delusional fool. Looked like he had even forgotten his punishment only two days ago. He was so easily hurt and forgave too fast. That was no good. Lessons like that shouldn't be ignored.

"Thanks," Scott murmured after a while and straightened up, wiping his eyes. "It should be the other way around, right? I mean, you..." He paused and a helpless laugh escaped him. "God, this is insane."

"Can you manage?"

Scott slid off the trunk. "I guess I have to until Adrian arrives. At least the mystery of the disappearing keys is solved now and Jenna out of this." Vincent's hands automatically brushed his waist, but his special belt was gone. Of course, the cops had taken it. He'd better get that back with everything attached.

Scott gave him a smile that could not have looked real with even the best of imagination.

"See ya, then." There was a question mark in his voice.

Vincent simply nodded and got into his car. He backed out of the lot and turned towards their apartment. Scott was a tiny, forlorn figure on the empty parking lot, framed by a beautiful summer sunrise.

When he was out of sight, Vincent turned a corner in the opposite direction and drove to Gryffon Park. He parked the car at the edges and wandered into the trees. The park was more or less on the exact opposite side of the city from his apartment and a good deal away from Freddy's. The parking lot was one of the many places everybody illegally dumped their trash.

The park was deserted at this time of day. It was usually left to the joggers and dog owners anyway, and he had arrived in that small period of time between the early morning people and those who came last minute before the insane heat of noon.

Vincent reached the small lake and laid down in the grass. The sky was getting brighter by the minute and had turned into a clear blue streaked with yellow. The grass was still cool, a soft breeze tickling his skin.

A quote from his high school literature class popped up out of nowhere.

 _Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind. The thief doth fear each bush an officer._

Vincent began to laugh. First it was only a grin developing into a giggle, but then a genuine cramp of laughter surged through him. He lay there for several minutes, shaking with laughter, until his belly ached from it and he forced himself to stop. He tried to, at least, groaning with pain, out of breath and happier than the last months had been. Grass tickled his skin, the smell of summer and drying vegetation and success.

The kid's panic. His stupid questions. Even the sounds of Pete slowly being turned into mincemeat. Breaking bones and tearing flesh. Screams.

It was _hilarious_. He could go over this again and again.

Eventually, his laughter died away to a giggle that would have made a passer-by's blood freeze.

He straightened up with a happy sigh, wiping tears of laughter out of his face. He had managed this quite well, he thought. The stupid detective thought him to be a vulnerable kid. His story was simple, and in all the confusion he could not be expected to remember puny trivialities. Of course, they would come back later, for more details, but not for an interrogation. He had been the only one at the scene, that was all.

Vincent stood up and stretched, feeling a slight pain in his stomach from already sore muscles. The grin didn't want to get off his face. He had to be careful around others. He almost hadn't managed concealing his smile from Scott after that idiot detective had left. Fools, everyone.

He had been gone for too long. Year after year he had not known who he was - but now he was back and felt more alive than ever. Like this, he could easily stand up to his ass of a brother. There were a few things still unresolved.

He snorted, amused that he wanted to avenge people he didn't care for, after so many years. Angie. Scott. Maybe it was a matter of self-respect. And, one should never forget, it would be fun.

Vincent frowned at the grass stains on his trousers and shirt. He would have to get those out soon. Damn it. Though he supposed he would not have to make it to his shift next evening anyway.

Vincent got back to his car and drove home. He didn't see anyone following him. That would have been premature anyway. He wasn't a suspect. There was no one out in the apartment complex either, but just for good measure, he upheld the air of disconnection and shock. That old bitch saw everything.

Vincent dropped his clothes on a pile, with the bandages and everything else. The bruises were better now, but not gone completely. Maybe he could ask Mrs. Barnes for more of this miracle cure.

The police would be confused – and suspicious – when they found out Scott and he were sharing their living space. Scott had only meant well, but his care might have been too obvious. Of course they were more than colleagues. They had been friends for most of their lives.

Before he entered the bathroom, he suddenly craved a glass of water. Of course, in the bathroom was enough of that, but he wanted fizzy water, for whatever reason. He went back into the kitchen, glad that the blinds were drawn.

Scott had left a note on the kitchen table, probably written long before he heard of the events.

 _Look what I found – I'm pretty sure that's yours._

Next to the piece of paper lay a pocket knife. Not one of the modern ones, with lots of functions which mostly didn't work anyway. The blade was three inches long and could be folded shut with the wooden handle. _Vincent DB_ was scratched into the darkened, slick surface. It was the knife they had gotten at the boy scout's, so many years back. Vincent had participated only because Victor would otherwise get all the cheer and approval (which he did anyway), because Scott's parents forced their son to stay, and because it was a great excuse for staying away long periods of time.

Vincent opened the knife and wondered where it had come from. He had carried it around for years, until college, and somehow forgotten all about it when they moved south, away from their past.

Well, now that he had it again, it would probably be a great tool. Vincent put it back and was about to go into the bathroom when he heard a thud from Scott's room.

Curious, he peeked in. Usually, he left Scott's room alone and Scott his, but one glance wouldn't hurt. He spotted the dark red lump on the ground next to the bed immediately. Smiling to himself, he picked up the worn-off plushy and examined it. Foxy had bleached out over the years, some tears had been sewn – the company had never sold quality products – and one of the teeth was missing, leaving only a golden bucktooth.

Vincent sat the plushy back on its spot on the bed. Scott tried to keep it a secret, but Vincent had always known how much he loved this relic. He had bought it when they had been on that stupid road trip with their families. The purchase had been made when Vincent and Scott had been at Freddy's alone. After their return home, Foxy had stayed with Angie, just to make sure Mary and Victor didn't get wind of its existence. They would have destroyed it just for the sake of seeing Scott devastated.

Foxy had always been his favorite and when they finally moved away, he took it with him, stuffing it deep down in the boxes so nobody saw it. It had been some strange twist of fate that they had been at Angie's to recover a few things when they found her. In all the chaos, nobody noticed Scott bringing that silly thing to their car.

No matter how much he tried to explain it away as just a sentimental thing, Vincent knew the truth. It was an open ear - when Scott was sad and couldn't get himself to talk to anyone, not even Vincent, he just told the plushy all of his worries, like he had previously told Angelica, the sister he would have liked to have. It had been with her for years, maybe he saw some of her in it.

The counseling Foxy provided was his secret, and Vincent let him believe it. Where was the point in shattering that blissful illusion?

"It's been a crazy day, Foxy," he sighed and patted the loosening ears. "But I guess Scott will tell you about that later. No need to bore you with hearing the same story twice."

The shower was a relief. For a while, Vincent just leaned against the wall, letting the lukewarm water run over him. It ran into the drain tainted pink and now the trembling set in again.

"Pete you damn idiot...", he muttered. His hair was clotted with dried blood and it took an eternity to get all of it out. His motions were automatic and without conscious thought. Pete was dead because he had failed. It had been the boy's own fault, by some degree, but in the end, he had failed either way.

Pete had been just a kid. Just a shy, quiet boy he had rejected the night before. He shouldn't have mocked him, unintentional as it had been. And now his blood would be on his hands forever, just like...

like Alex'. And Ethan's.

Vincent stopped moving altogether and blinked. Shampoo stung in his eyes, but he barely noticed. What?

 _There we are. Do you remember their struggle? It was beautiful, wasn't it?_

"No," he murmured. "You're not real. You're just a spooky story Victor invented to scare us."

 _Oh, I'm as real as you. In fact, I am you. We are one._

"I'm not a monster," Vincent hissed between clenched teeth. "I'm not-"

 _Ethan whimpered as the knife opened a lovely little line on his forehead. The blood was just a drop compared to their surroundings, of course, but it stood out like a beacon. Cut after cut, he decorated the smeared, sticky skin. The screams were delightful. This little coward was more of a fighter than strong, sweet Alex had been._

"No, that's not... Ethan wasn't _there_. How the hell would a little boy manage to sneak out in the middle of the night? Pete doesn't even have a car." Vincent didn't notice falling to his knees. The pain would set in later. He heard that horrible laughter, a mixture of his own and his brother's, and tried to block it out by covering his ears. The water pounded down on his head, careless, untouched by pain and fear. "That's not real. Something is screwing with my head."

 _It was a bright summer day. The air was stuffy, roasting the people like chickens, and the sun beat down on them as if it was its last day. In other words, it was Vincent's worst nightmare._

 _He trudged along the sidewalk, trying to keep his head down so his sweat-soaked hair blocked out some of the sun, and seeing where he was going. The bright light made everything shine three times more than it should and he could only make out vague shapes in the white where objects blocked his path. Driving had been next to impossible, but he couldn't have reached the inner city by foot. Not when his back sent a wave of pain through his body with every move._

 _He would have to return the car with the tank filled, but it was better than staying. Hopefully, Scott had done the sensible thing and decided to take a walk as well._

 _They would continue on the last part of their 'vacation' this evening, when his father was conscious enough to drive again. When they were home, at least Vincent knew where he could stay. Hide, in Victor's words. Whatever you called it, it was better than staying. He couldn't wait for college to start. He hadn't found a place yet, especially none with a scholarship, but that was only a matter of time._

 _What a godforsaken town._

 _A wave of pizza smell washed over him. Vincent stopped in the shade of an awning, giving him the tiniest bit of relief. His eyes adjusted and he could read the writing on the door._

Fredbear's Family Diner

 _He contemplated if he should go inside. He was hungry. But the ten dollars in his pocket were the only money he had left. Everything else, his father had taken before showing him what not supporting the family brought him. And he still needed to fill the car. No pizza for him._

 _Vincent stayed where he was a while longer. The shadow was treacherous, but he didn't feel like walking anymore and it was still better than the sun._

 _Angie had invited them to go swimming when they came back. Looked like he could forget about that for the next week. Like hell he would let her see the black and red stripes on his back. And Victor... Victor had just grinned. Why not? He was the perfect son, that could do everything and got everything. He was normal. He had their black hair and tanned skin. He played football since middle school and was popular. And he never questioned a word father said._

 _Vincent leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Clenching his fists hurt and that made him stay on the ground. If Victor was here, he could have strangled him with bare hands. This goddamn triumphant grin. His spite. Or, even better, push him into the lake. However grand Victor might want to appear, swimming was one of the things he wasn't capable of. And should he ever be in trouble, Vincent wouldn't be the one to pull him out. He had a cable in the trunk. He knew how a garrote worked. Victor was always allowed to stay out late. Nobody would miss him._

 _The door slammed open, right into his shoulder and tender ribs. Vincent gasped, too shocked to cry out, despite the burning pain in his side and back. A tiny figure rushed out of the restaurant, but stopped a few steps away when she heard him curse._

 _It was a little boy with a mass of dark curls standing in all directions. He stared at Vincent, startled. On second glance, it might as well be an androgynous girl. There was a pink ribbon placed on his – her - hair like a statement. The bushy eyebrows were drawn together in a dark zigzag line. Tears shone on her face, freed from her eyes by the shock._

 _The kid looked like Victor._

" _What?", she asked, in that same provocative voice. Vincent felt his nails dig into his palms. The kid stared at him. "I'm sorry," she said and turned her back on him, walking away. It happened to be the direction of his car, so he followed within the space of a few meters. The light made him next to blind, but the sidewalk was empty and there was nothing he might hit on accident. The child turned into a dark alley. "Idiots, everyone," she mumbled. And it was Victor's voice, the same spite and contempt for his brother, and his brother's friends. He would pay._

 _Vincent turned into the alley as well, his steps light and full of vigor, despite the ache in his body. A smile had spread on his face. In the shadows, he could see better and the searing rays of the sun didn't reach them anymore._

 _The child turned around when she heard him come closer, and the next moment, he could wrap his hand around her slender neck and smashed her against the wall. What should have been a cry for help turned into a strangled gurgle and eventually into a dazed whimper. Her tiny arms flailed helplessly and he grabbed her wrist, locking it between her back and the brick wall. He pressed her to the wall with his body, his breath speeding up from the effort. She was strong for such a small, fragile child._

 _The girl's face was beginning to turn blue, contorted in fear and pain. Her dark eyes stared at him with one obvious question in them:_ Why are you doing this? _He laughed, although quietly. He couldn't risk alerting anyone. He wouldn't talk to her, but he answered anyway._

Why? Why?! _Because it was fun, of course._

 _He grabbed her other arm. It was slapping at him uselessly, sending small shock waves through his ribs. The girl opened her mouth in a breathless, agonized scream as he squeezed. Tears were running over her face. Her question had turned into a wordless plea that broke off as her humerus shattered in his grip. The arm dropped, suddenly a dead weight._

 _He traced along his belt to the small leather sheath. A present from Angie. Silly girl, trying to be rebellious but too goodhearted to succeed in anything. Vincent drew his knife and flipped the blade out. He had sharpened it just two days ago for the purpose of – he chuckled – woodcarving._

 _Alex' eyes widened even more and her resistance multiplied, despite her already blue lips and broken arm. He had trouble holding her in place. It happened like it had to: his hand slipped. Alex gasped, air flowing back into her lungs. She kicked him, her foot missing what she was aiming for and hitting his thigh instead. He hissed in pain and slammed his whole weight against the fragile body of the child. A second later he had regained his grip and her cry was cut off before she could reach a significant volume._

 _Alex gurgled when the knife dug into her chest. Her eyes bulged, as if they were about to fall out of their sockets. Her mouth opened in a fruitless attempt to scream, spilling blood and spit over her chin. Blood gushed out of the wound and into her shirt, turning gray to dark red._

 _The knife slid into flesh easily. Again, and again, and again. He had never felt better. Alex gurgled and whimpered, the lights in her eyes slowly dying away. The more they faded, the more his blood rushed, and the greater the ecstasy became. She wouldn't die just yet. She was just slipping away into unconsciousness and he could easily draw this out a while longer._

 _There were steps coming to the alleyway. Vincent spun, dropping the child to the ground. She lay there like a broken doll, her skin almost translucent, in a spreading pool of this beautiful red liquid. Her eyelids fluttered weakly, but she didn't move._

 _He looked up and down the alley. His blood was still rushing with adrenaline, but now his excitement had been replaced by panic and rage. Whoever this was, he had interrupted this precious moment of revenge. Maybe he should just kill him too._

 _No. It was too risky. There was nowhere to hide and he wasn't sure if he could overwhelm an adult, especially not without making too much noise. His moment was over, cut painfully short by whoever was coming closer. He sent one last string of curses at the stranger before he turned and ran._

 _He parked the car in front of the motel they were staying in. After filling the tank just so much his father wouldn't notice, he had exactly two dollars and fifty-three cents left and he had hidden those in a place his father was least likely to look: His wallet._

 _Vincent got out, from stuffy heat (the windows refused to go down) to slightly more airy heat and looked around if he could find Scott anywhere. By now the sun was beginning to set. Maybe they would stay another night. Everything but that. He couldn't wait to be home._

 _Scott had left on Vincent's command just before his father came trampling in like a rhinoceros, waving a ten-dollar bill and yelling why he had kept that to himself. Victor had stayed the whole time, so maybe Scott had gotten away._

 _Vincent could easily find him by the shrill voice yelling at him. Everyone else had already turned away from the spot, embarrassed, but Vincent walked up to Scott without hesitation, even as his mother yelled at him and Mary stood close by with a contemptuous smirk on her ugly little face. She scampered away when she saw Vincent approach though._ Oh you better run.

 _After a moment, also Elsa Goldwyn noticed him. She straightened up and her features softened a bit. She might have been the only adult that didn't mind his appearance or existence in general._

" _Vincent."_

" _Good evening, Mrs. Goldwyn," he said politely._

 _She smiled and shook her had, as if sad. "Alright Scott, don't you do this again."_

" _Yes Mum," he mumbled, not looking her in the eyes. Elsa shook her head once more and stomped off. She was good at that, despite her tiny feet._

 _The boys looked after her until she had disappeared, then Scott leaned back. The shirt rippled over his stomach. He had never been scrawny like Vincent and Victor, but over the past year, he had added more pounds than was normal for his rather reluctant growth. Vincent didn't want to think about the why. He would like to go away, far away from his parents and his brother, and everyone. Everyone except for Angie and Scott._

" _What happened?"_

" _I listened to the radio. There was a murder at this small pizzeria we were at yesterday. A little kid on the sidewalk. Sounded pretty horrible." He shrugged his shoulders."They already got a special newspaper edition out, but Mary sold me out before I could read it completely."_

" _Oh, snap." Vincent sat down next to him on the bench. At least there was a bit of shadow. "I got like two dollars left. Wanna eat something?"_

 _Scott's eyes flickered downward on a tiny stain on his shirt. Looked like chocolate ice cream. After such a treat Scott was probably the only person that could look uncomfortable, even embarrassed. "No thanks."_

 _Astoundingly, they arrived home the next morning, quiet, without a fuss. Vincent and Scott went swimming with Angie and she took care of his bruises without asking questions. She didn't have to. There was nothing to explain. She took in the story of the murder, but a few days later, they had all but forgotten about it. It was far away, not connected to three teenagers enjoying each other's company before the summer ended. Everything ended some time. It's one of the basic facts of life, and maybe the one people want to think about the least._

Vincent breathed in water and coughed. It finally, finally tore him from the horrific flashback. His throat was rough. Had he been screaming? Did it even matter?

"That's not true," he whimpered. The tears felt searing hot, like lava mixing into a cool lake. Vincent furiously rubbed at his eyes without accomplishing anything. His attempt at standing up ended with a fall. He felt the cool tiles against his back and just buried his face in his arms. It was cold in here, very cold. But not as cold as Ethan and Alex were. Pete, too. Just a stupid proof of love. Things teenagers did. None of them would do anything anymore.

He could see their eyes. Pete's cloudy blue, Ethan's checkered green, Alex' dark brown. They were staring at him, silently condemning his actions.

 _It was fun_ , a voice inside of him whispered. _We can kill them all. Just remember how much fun it was. How he struggled and writhed. A pathetic little fish. And we enjoyed it. We laughed. Those insects will all die by our hands._

"No," he croaked. "Stop. Just stop. Please. Leave me alone." The water rained down and he watched it run into the drain for a long, long time.

 _Why not? You know you want to._

"Leave me alone!", Vincent whimpered. He sat there for a long time, soaked, shaking, weeping, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, every sob sending a shock wave through his body. "I want to be normal. I want friends, somebody... somebody I love. Go away, Victor. You're not part of my life anymore. Not after all you did to us."

The voice didn't say anything more, but he could hear it laugh and it was his own laugh. He curled up even more and continued to cry until he had no more strength left.

 _Tell yourself you're a good man._

"Leave me alone!", Vincent roared, his voice breaking to a tiny wheeze at the second syllable, and jumped to his feet. On the slippery surface, he lost his balance and his back hit the wall once more, sliding down. Pain rushed through his shoulder and Vincent cried out in surprise. It was a primal sound, the scream of a tortured animal. He had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself, breathing heavily. Hot blood ran over his back, down his legs, dripping on the floor, dissolving in the water. The stream turned pink once more.

Vincent stared at it, the burn turning to a heavy pounding, a red wave running through him with every heartbeat. How bad was it?

Maybe, maybe he should just sit down again. Wait until it either stopped bleeding or he died.

Absently, his eyes focused on the nail Mrs. Barnes had driven into the wall. It was probably intended for hanging up a sponge or something similar, but neither Scott nor Vincent had ever cared or thought about it. Now the metal was glistening red. The head was missing, probably broken off under the pressure.

Vincent stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. His hair was sending big drops down his body, but he didn't pay it more attention that ruffling it with the fabric once. While he dried himself off, he could feel blood trickling down his back and wondered if he could die of an infection from the part of rusty nail that was probably still stuck in his shoulder. The nail had left a gash from his shoulder blade down to the spine and the towel had smeared the dark blood all over his skin.

Numb, he tried to rub it off with a few paper towels, but every movement made the injury bleed more. Vincent grabbed his trousers and left the shirt where it was. He would have to ask Scott for help if it didn't stop bleeding. Until then, he would just stay here, where he wouldn't make a mess that couldn't be cleaned up. He even put his still wet hair into a ponytail and so happened to meet his own eyes in the mirror. The white had turned red with shattered blood vessels and the circles under his eyes made a good match for his hair.

He winced when the front door opened. "Vincent?", Scott called quietly. No cheery double "Hello". He sounded as horrible as Vincent felt. "Are you home?"

"Yeah." The word was just a croak, too quiet to be heard. Vincent cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm here."

"A-Are you hungry? I didn't bring anything, but..."

"No thanks." He leaned his head against the door. Blood didn't make him sick. He had always liked the smell, even the taste. Now this triviality just added to his misery.

"I- I'll be in the kitchen."

"Scott." The steps paused. Vincent hadn't been aware of planning to say anything, even less sounding like the wreck he was.

"Vince, are you okay?"

He closed his eyes, fighting back the burning tears. "No. No, I'm not." He had to take care nobody else got hurt. Scott. Or Jenna. They were just bystanders like Pete and Ethan. They were in danger around him. Scott had sounded scared and that was good. He better should be.

The door swung open. He hadn't even noticed opening it, but now he had to run with his choice. So he took a step into the hall, then another one.

Scott's eyes widened when he saw him. "Oh- Oh God, what the-"

Vincent didn't look at him. He just shrugged his shoulders and rubbed at an itch in his cheek, leaving another red stain.

The dark voice wanted to laugh into this childish fool's face. It wanted him to explain every last detail of the scene he had witnessed, to make this small mind _see_. How delightful it had been.

Scott caught him when he fell to his knees with a deafening shriek of desperation. Vincent dug his fingers into the silly violet shirt, soaking it with blood. The goddamn bear was smiling down on him like a mocking God.

"Vince, you're bleeding." From a distance of three feet Scott's voice would have been inaudible. Vincent just buried his face into his friend's chest, feeling hot tears soak the fabric. "It's my fault," he whispered, again and again. "It's all my fault."

A warm, gentle hand came down on his head and began to stroke his hair. The instinct-driven part of him melted into the touch, searching desperately for comfort when he didn't deserve it.

"It's not," Scott cooed. He knelt down and took the shaking body into his arms. "Don't you think that. Pete should have known better." His voice broke and the next words were just a ghost. "He should have known."

Vincent had the urge to laugh along with the dark voice. What came out was a raspy sob. Yes, Pete should have known better. It was not entirely his fault the boy was dead now. Not entirely. Not like Ethan. And Alex.

"I killed them." Scott continued to cradle him, but there was a hint of confusion in the way he paused for a split second. Vincent pushed him back. "Alex Radkowski. I killed her."

Scott actually managed to sound indignant. "Don't be silly, you could never-" He broke off with a startled gasp when Vincent's hand closed around the bandage hidden under his shirt. The grip wasn't tight. Not tight enough to hurt yet.

"I never meant to harm you. Anyone." Vincent dropped his hand again and his fingers dug into the carpet. Mrs Barnes would kill them for making such a mess. "It's him. The- the voice. It's not Victor, but almost... he tells me how much fun it was and sometimes, I- I can't help it. We were there that day and Dad had given me a beating and that kid looked like Victor and I was angry and I... I killed her. I couldn't remember it afterwards but now I do and it's telling me how much fun it was and... Oh God, I'm so scared." He tried to reach out for his friend and missed through the wet curtain turning his sight into a blur of colors.

"Help me, please. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to be a monster." The gray-greenish carpet didn't answer him and neither did Scott. For a very long time, it was silent and Vincent realized what a goddamn bastard he was for dragging him into this in the first place. He had no right to ask for Scott's help. Scott was a gentle, kind man with a heart of gold. If the knowledge didn't break him, he would maybe even convicted as a co-conspirator, just for his friendship. He didn't deserve this. But now it was too late.

 _Maybe he does the right thing,_ the dark voice teased. _That would be good, right? You wouldn't struggle. You're dangerous after all. A threat to everyone you love._ The voice snickered. _But of course he will help you. He loves you, always did. He's such a shy guy. No wonder after all that happened. But he will always stand with you. Your good little puppy would never betray you._

"Shut up!", Vincent hissed. He tried to sound authoritative and ended up with a plea. The voice laughed.

Soft, gentle arms wrapped around his shoulders again. Scott's skin was cold and he had started shaking as well, but there was more strength in his body than met the eye. The dark voice growled and finally went silent. Vincent rested his cheek on his friend's neck and Scott let him cry until he stopped out of exhaustion. He wanted to say something, wanted to reveal the last bit of secrets and the most horrible, Ethan, but he couldn't. He couldn't drag Scott into what felt like a spiral descending into insanity even more.

By some miracle, he began to feel calmer. His pulse began to slow and eventually, even the trembling eased off. Then Vincent recounted everything that had happened in the last few days. The animatronic's attacks, Alex' ribbon, his method to get her to sleep, the flashbacks, the voice, his suspicions. Only Ethan never appeared in his tale. He couldn't burden Scott with that as well. He was the only anchor Vincent had in his life. If Scott was gone, who would stop him from becoming what he feared?

 _See, you're exploiting his crush on you. Isn't that a wonderful base for a friendship?_ He would have liked to think it was the dark voice. That would be an excuse. But it was only his own guilt speaking. "Scott..."

"We'll find a solution." Vincent wiped his eyes to blink up at his friend in awe. Scott's voice was rock steady, without the slightest tremble. As if he wasn't shocked at all.

"You're... you're not scared of me?"

The laugh was forced, but astoundingly realistic. "Fuck no. You're my best friend. The day I'm scared of you is the day hell freezes over." _So, two days ago?_

"Let's have a look at that cut before you catch anything." Vincent had no strength to protest. Scott somehow heaved him to his feet and brought him into the living room, where he fell down on the sofa.

Scott swallowed. He felt woozy and the colors had a strange quality to them, but he couldn't pass out now. Vincent needed his help. The nausea increased for a second when he tried to comprehend what Vincent had told him. Alex Radkowski. Dear God.

Of course, Vincent had always been a little... unpredictable. It had gotten worse after Angie's death, and much better when they went to college. But he was a good person. He protected them as well as he could. As far as he managed. Some things he had no influence on and they never felt any anger at him for it. In Vincent's presence, he felt safe. Sometimes, Scott even managed to think Vincent understood what he felt for him, even if he didn't return it. A smile here, a touch there. They didn't need to have some awkward talk that would end in disappointment. Scott could deal with it by himself.

Crush was a good word. It described the feeling well.

He shook off such impractical thoughts. The wound hadn't stopped oozing blood, now settling in the soft ravine of Vincent's spine. If it hadn't been so horrible, the sight would carry a macabre kind of beauty. Vincent didn't stir and his breathing was so faint Scott froze in panic until he detected the movement.

Mrs Barnes had left a first aid kit somewhere around and he found it after a few minutes of search, trying hard not to panic. One step at a time. There was a solution for everything. Nevertheless he almost cried out in relief when he found the object.

He rushed back into the living room and set the kit down on the table. It was neatly ordered and he found everything he needed on the spot.

"This will hurt," he said quietly, his eyes wandering over soft, pale, blood-smeared skin and the hints of fluent muscle. Vincent gave an inarticulate mumbling. He flinched under the hydrogen peroxide even as a small smile appeared on his face. He enjoyed the pain as a punishment. Scott shuddered when he realized he couldn't argue with that logic. This was his best friend, damn it!

Scott sew the cut, equally busy with setting clean stitches and keeping the light feeling in his head away from taking over. Last, he put the biggest plaster he found over the wound. Vincent had stopped moving altogether, except for deep, rhythmic breaths. He had fallen asleep during the procedure. The events and his breakdown had exhausted him.

Scott put everything back and then began to clean the blood off Vincent's skin, where he could reach without waking him. As the water dried, his body felt a little warmer again. Scott stared into nothingness for quite a while, just kneeling in front of the sofa with a bloody towel in his hand.

Some things ran in the family, it seemed. He suppressed a whimper and tried to fight back the memories before they could overwhelm him. A walk in the woods. Stars exploding in his head. His arms twisted behind his back. Victor's laughter. Pain. His dignity and self-respect, he had worked so hard to assemble, shattering into tiny splinters.

Scott rested his head in the small of Vincent's back, enjoying the warmth and touch. He could almost pretend it was like in his dreams, fueled by his wishes for a long, long time.

This had been years ago. He wasn't a frightened child anymore. Vincent had tried to protect him his entire life and now he was the one who needed help. He was not a monster. There was a monster bearing his face, but it was hundreds of miles away.

As much as he wanted to stay, there was work to do. Scott stood up and began to clean up all the blood. It was a lot.

 _Just think of a glass of milk. Spilled out, it looks like more than it is._ After the hall and living room was clear, he went to get a shower and put all the laundry away. Hopefully, the stains would go out. It wasn't even noon yet when Scott found nothing else to do. He checked on Vincent again, allowing himself to run his fingers through the soft, chaotic hair. Nothing more. It was enough.

Or so he told himself.

He could call at the pizzeria and ask what the situation was. But his head felt like it was filled with lead. He wasn't going to be of use to anyone.

Foxy grinned at him with his golden bucktooth from his place near the pillow. Scott felt a tired smile cross his face. He fell on the bed, taking Foxy into his arms. The fabric had turned rough over the years and was held by more stitches he had set than anything else. Scott buried his face into the formerly pink belly of the plush fox before he rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling, the toy cuddled up against his neck, and began to talk.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Nobody answered when they rang the door bell. Scott looked at Vincent, who shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe she's in the shower," he proposed. Scott nodded, but didn't look convinced. Angie knew they were coming over. Maybe she just didn't want to see them. Didn't want to say goodbye.

Vincent shot a glance to their car to check if it was locked. They had bought it together, without anyone knowing it. Victor and Mary would have been happy to sell Vincent out to his father, always snooping for money like a blood hound, and invent anything to make the source of that money at least questionable, which would be worse for Scott than Vincent.

Victor had a car, of course, with permission and considerable help from his father. He needed it to get to his football training and whatever else he was doing.

Scott's grandma Anna would let them stay on her farm for a while, but they didn't want to burden her for too long, and needed to have an own place once the semester started. A university in Florida, far away from Victor, or Mary, or their parents.

Far away from Angie.

"You think she's mad at us?", Scott asked in a tiny voice.

"No way," Vincent said with all the determination he could muster. It was the only university that had allowed both of them a scholarship – Vincent in Engineering and Scott in Business Administration. They had no choice and it was the best. Angie knew that. They needed to get Scott away from Victor and Mary.

"Angie will follow -" Vincent broke off to correct himself, hearing the melodrama in this phrase, "Come after us once she's twenty. It's less than two years." That silly promise she had given her grandmother shortly before her death. Vincent had never liked the old matriarch.. She only wanted Angie to be married as soon as she was out of high school, in her own old town with the same idiot families that had lived there for centuries.

The sun was glaring down and the street was empty except for shimmers of heat. Scott looked at the battered car, at the ground, and then at the door again, a line of worry appearing on his face. The first stubble of what might become a beard one day had begun to show on his chin. It didn't make him look older though, on the contrary. He seemed more like a middle schooler gone into puberty too soon.

"Should we wait?", Scott asked. They were both thinking the same: Angie had wanted to meet Victor yesterday, to cut him down to size. He should leave Scott alone, for one thing, and something about another friend of hers that had complained about Victor's "affection".

Vincent had told her to wait for him, or better not to go at all. Victor was dangerous, they all knew that, and he was clever.

Angie had just smiled, twirling a lavender strand around her finger and brushing his cheek before she kissed him.

"Don't worry," she had said. "I'm not an idiot. Casey will come with me. I don't think he'll be too eager to try anything with a witness present." Her tone of voice had been light, joking, but her blue eyes had been serious. She knew something Vincent didn't, and didn't want to, but at least it made her careful. "I just don't think it will be a good idea to have you there."

Vincent hadn't been happy, but saw the logic in her plan. So instead of protesting, he used the time to kiss her again, feel her fingers on his skin and spend the summer day together. Angie always managed to make the pain in the bright lights go away. He could actually enjoy being outside when she was there. "I love you," he said before she left. They said it every time, but it wasn't just a phrase.

"I love you too," Angie had said. And that had been it. And now a quiet self-loathing began to gnaw at him, after he had managed to shut it off for a long time. Sure, he hated his family and wanted to be as far away as possible. But he could manage. He would have waited for Angie if not for Scott.

Vincent took out his key ring and selected the one Angie had given him years ago. Front door and the shack out back had the same lock and they mostly used it for storing things nobody else should know of. Otherwise Vincent had used it exactly once to open the front door, when Angie had called him to say she was alone at home and bored. A short smile crossed his face even through the haze of worry.

"Stop looking so nervous," he told Scott while he opened the door. "Before someone thinks we're burglars." The half-hearted joke made Scott look even more sick instead of easing the tense atmosphere.

They entered a small entrance hall not more than a room to connect the doors and staircase. The house was hot and stuffy, even worse than outside, with tiny specks of dust floating in the rays of the sun. A vaguely unpleasant smell hit them the moment the door fell shut, but the source remained invisible and it was impossible to determine the exact nature of the smell.

It was perfectly silent.

Vincent called himself an idiot, but he had to clear his throat before he could speak.

"Angie?", he called. Scott winced at his voice. "It's me. Us," he corrected. "Scott and Vincent." A clock struck three in the afternoon and both of them jumped.

Vincent frowned and turned around. Underneath his sunburn, Scott was pale as a ghost and shivering like he was locked in a freezer, with thick pearls of sweat on his forehead.

"Something is wrong," he whispered miserably. "Can you feel it?"

Vincent didn't want to admit it, but he did. Scott was a sensible person and reacted strongly to everything that was off. The house felt empty, which was weird. And cold. It was not the temperature, not even the general uneasiness they had expected from this goodbye. It was dread in its purest instinctual form.

"Don't be silly," Vincent said. "It was a hard day and we're a bit on edge."

Scott nodded, but still stepped a little closer, as if searching shelter from an unseen evil. Of course he was shaky. He had practically been kicked out of his home, with his father mocking him, his mother crying and Mary standing silently beside everything with a big, satisfied smile.

His eyes had flitted about the room the whole time, constantly returning to the staircase. Angie's room was at the end of the upstairs hallway.

Scott shuddered visibly, but then he straightened up and ran up the stairs. "Angie?" His voice was on the verge of cracking, not yet panicked, but close.

Confused about the sudden outburst, Vincent followed, albeit a bit slower. "Scott, what's going on?"

The sound was not a scream, more a chocked sob mixed with a whimper, followed by a thud. Vincent took the last steps in three big leaps and almost ran into Scott at the end of the short hallway. He had fallen to his knees, completely frozen in shock. The smell was like a punch in the stomach.

Vincent felt the floor slip out under his feet, ready to throw him into an endless, dark pit. The temperature dropped to zero in one second.

He barely noticed his feet moving, not that he shoved Scott out of the door or brushed the frame in the process, giving himself a nasty scratch. His vision was swimming and crystal clear at the same time when he knelt down next to Angie's bed. The blood from her wrists had soaked the sheets before dripping to the floor. The puddle was perfectly circular.

Again not feeling the movement, Vincent touched the dark brown and black stains. They were dry, yet a little sticky. She must have laid there for a while.

The heat had kept her skin warm and soft. Vincent caressed her cheeks and felt salt loosen under his fingertips. But despite her tears, her face was set in a soft, serene smile.

Somebody was talking to him, but he could barely hear anything, even less understand the words.

 _Why?_

The question threw itself at him, screaming, again and again. _Why?_

 _Is this my fault?_

Angie had always been the strongest of them.

Or had he just fallen for her charade like everyone else?

"I love you," he murmured, their usual parting words. The last he had heard of her. Not the worst possibility, right? Just why would she want to leave them like that?

 _Like you wanted to leave her?_

A hand appeared in his vision. The skin was pale under the sunburn. The shaking fingers needed three attempts to pluck the crumpled piece of paper from Angie's hand. Rigor mortis had already disappeared again. It must have happened during the morning.

Vincent rested his head on Angie's soft stomach. Where did the bruises on her arms come from? On her cheek was a cut that hadn't been there the last evening.

" _M-My love Vincent, my brother Scott._ " Scott coughed, his voice breaking. The words came out choked and arrhythmic, just on the edge of being understandable. His tears fell on the paper and joined those of Angie, already dried to grayish stains.

" _How should I explain this to you? You know I always sucked at descriptions._

 _I should have listened to you, so often. Why keep promises to the dead? I always wished there was nothing, so I didn't have to feel guilty. But now, now I hope there is more. A good place. A place where we will be together again, some day._

 _I do what I do. For you._

 _ **For** you, not because of you, you dolts. Don't go around blaming yourself for my decision. Maybe there is another way, but I can't see it. I know you won't understand. It's not important._

 _From now on, you have to look out for each other, okay? Because I won't be there to save your sorry asses._

 _Take this with you. I don't want anyone to see it except for you._

 _There is no more time. Just two things, one for each of you:_

 _Scott, you're much more than you think. The past is over. I'm probably the wrong person to say that, just now, but you can do better than me. It wasn't your fault. Never._

 _Vincent, I love you, I always will. Please, please don't try to pursue any revenge. Hate leads to pain and pain to more suffering. Revenge doesn't do any good, no matter how justified it might seem._

 _Thank you, my friends. Thanks for the good times, the laughter, the tears, the loyalty. You made my life worth it. You're the most stupid, silly, funny, adorable, amazing, perfect companions I could have wished for. I will always love you, no matter where we go. We're free, all of us._

 _I will see you in heaven some day._

 _In love,_

 _your Angie_

 _PS: I wish you the best of luck in Florida. You can make it far, both of you. A._ "

Scott lowered the letter. In the end, his voice had been flat, devoid of emotions. Vincent didn't know what he looked like right now and didn't care. He had closed his eyes, not able to bear the brightness anymore. The glare of the sun through the blinds had seared his eyes, worse than it had in a long time. His cheek on her stomach made it a little better, holding Angie's limp hands was like a regulator to balance the ice and the heat that shook him at the same time. He knew he should be crying, devastated, even hysteric. That was what any normal person would, what everybody expected. But all he felt was pain and emptiness.

 _I will see you in heaven._

A shriek cut through the silence. Scott joined in with the startled squeak of a scared mouse and spun. Vincent forced himself to open his eyes. Angie's mother stood in the door, panting like after a sprint, her eyes wide in horror. Her keys clattered to the floor with a dull bang.

"What-", she stuttered. Then her face contorted in rage. "What did you do?!", she roared. Scott was slammed out of the way and against the wardrobe, that was still decorated with old drawings and photographs. The woman dug her fingers in Vincent's hair and ripped him away from the still body.

Pain flared in his scalp, but he didn't resist, didn't even try to stand up.

"Get away from my daughter, you monster!"

"Mrs. McDavid-", Scott tried to intervene.

"Don't tell me what to do!", the woman roared. Her blond hair had grayed prematurely, but she was as tall as Angie, almost six feet, and had the strength of an angry rhinoceros.

Scott grabbed Vincent's arm and heaved him to his feet, seeing he wouldn't do it on his own. It forced Angie's mother to let go. Some violet strands shone between her fingers. She thrust them away with an expression of disgust.

Vincent still felt Angie's touch, her kiss last evening. "Can I say goodbye to her?", he asked quietly.

Angie's mother screamed. If she had a weapon, she might have just swung it at them. "Get out you freak!" The first tears rolled over her cheeks. "I should never have let her- I shouldn't-" She came at them like a bird of prey and Scott dragged Vincent to the stairs. In his panic to flee from the harpy that had been Angie's mother, he almost fell down headfirst. Vincent could grab his shirt just in time, tearing it at the side. Then they were out of the house and running to the car and something hard hit Scott in the back, shattering on the concrete.

They jumped into the car and took off as fast as the old motor could, while curious neighbors were peeking out of their windows.

They left their hometown. The last tie had been severed now. They had no reason to ever go back. They already had everything they wanted to take with them.

Vincent hadn't planned to say goodbye to his family anyway.

Vincent felt light-headed and detached enough to wonder if he should be driving. But since Scott on the passenger seat was busy sniffing and frantically wiping his face, they had no choice. If something happened, they would get to see Angie sooner than expected. If not, she would have to wait a while longer.

Cars passed them by on the interstate, annoyed with the maximum of forty-five miles an hour the car was capable of. They didn't talk. The road stretched out before them, lifeless, uniform, shimmering in the heat of summer, the travelers detached and weighed down by their misery.

Eventually, even Scott's stifled sobbing ceased as the sun began its descend.

A pack of Kleenex appeared in Vincent's field of vision. He wanted to shake his head, just to realize his cheeks were streaked with salt, still a little wet. He wiped it off, not taking his eyes off the empty road. His eyes hurt from the bright sun, he felt hot and tired, but they had to go on.

"They will blame us," Scott said. His voice was hoarse from crying and would be for days. When Vincent looked over, his friend had turned away, staring out of the window. It wasn't a question.

"I guess." Silence. "Do you have the letter?"

Scott dug the crumpled, dirty paper out of his pocket without turning his gaze away from the landscape.

Vincent nodded anyway. He had to use the unnatural calm in his mind as long as it lasted.

"What did she mean "It wasn't your fault"?"

Scott shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

Vincent frowned. But despite his "lack of empathy and ability to read or respect other's feelings", like that bastard that who called himself a psychologist had said, Vincent knew exactly he shouldn't push Scott now.

The wave of grief and rage came late. Hours had passed since they had been kicked out of Angie's house, since they had left their old lives behind, and the sun had vanished behind the horizon. Vincent's hands clenched around the steering wheel. He shook with the effort of holding it steady until they could pull off the main road and into a tiny gravel lot with only a phone booth to keep them company.

Vincent shut off the engine and forced himself to take calm and steady breaths.

"Why would she do that?", Scott asked. The lack of an answer didn't stop him. "It doesn't make sense."

Vincent left him to talk and got out of the car. They wouldn't reach the farm of Scott's grandmother before tomorrow evening anyway.

The door of the phone booth had been smashed in and the phone book – the 1962 edition – was in pieces, but the phone itself was still functional. Vincent's legs felt stiff and strange after the long drive. For a while he just leaned against the wooden wall, his eyes closed. The sun's glare had vanished, but the night was still hot and he could feel its burn lingering in his head.

He put in a quarter – a luxury he couldn't afford without a good reason – and dialed. Numbers had always been his strength and now he was grateful for it.

Casey picked up after the first ring. "Hello?" She was crying and tried to get the edge out of her words.

"Casey, it's Vincent de Briss."

The answer was a startled whimper and she started to sob again. "W-Where the hell are you? Everybody is looking for you!" She cleared her throat. "T-the police wants to question you. Everybody says, says Angie is dead and it's your fault s-somehow."

His temple leaned against the metal frame, heated by the summer sun. He ignored the pain and didn't move. "I didn't." His words were too quiet for Casey to hear. "I didn't," he tried again. This time, he felt the tears icy on his heated skin. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. Of course, his voice was still calm. No wonder everyone thought it was him. Nobody saw him cry, but at least...

at least _he_ knew he wasn't a psychopath.

"Uh-huh," Casey murmured. It was impossible to determine if she believed him or not.

"Casey, I have to ask you something. Angie met up with my brother yesterday. She said you'd accompany her."

Casey sniffed and there was a clicking in the line while she moved, probably wiping her eyes.

"Yeah. I wanted to, but then my little sister fell off the ladder and we had to go to the hospital. I tried calling her, but she wasn't home."

"Where did you want to meet?"

"Grocery parking lot."

"Thanks."

"Hey should I tell this to the p-" He hung up without listening. The speaker bumped against the wall, dangling from its cord. Vincent closed his eyes. Why was he not surprised?

A sound made him turn. Scott stood there, Foxy in his arms, pale and ruffled, and a desperate hope in his face. "Casey was with her, right? She wasn't alone with Victor yesterday?"

"Casey couldn't go."

The implication struck home hard as he spoke those words. His hands clenched into fists. Scott took a step back as if scared. Vincent didn't want to know what he saw.

 _Victor._

He hit the wooden phone booth. Hard. The whole thing shook like it had been hit by an earthquake. He hit it again and again, but it didn't break and failed to relieve the fury within his mind. Of course it was Victor.

Scott pressed Foxy tighter into his chest. It was a surprise he could have gone even paler, but he had, giving his face a green tint in the darkness. "Oh no..."

Vincent only half heard the words and never realized what they meant. Scott knew exactly what had happened. Maybe things would have gone a lot different if he had understood this earlier.

The past was over, Angie had written.

With that one desperate, enraged scream in the summer night, Vincent woke.

The room was dim, heated up despite the drawn blinds. Vincent pushed himself up on aching muscles refusing to work properly. His neck was stiff from sleeping on his belly and his throat felt tight and dry. When he finally managed to sit upright, the nausea kept him there for the better part of ten minutes. He needed that time to work out where he was, and what year it was.

And he remembered what he had done.

It was true, most of the horrible things in his life were Victor's fault. He had tormented them all their lives, probably tortured Scott on that day in the forest, then he had driven Angie to suicide and taken his home away, the love of his parents, everything.

Pete had died because he made a mistake in his blind crush for Molly. Vincent had done a few stupid things for Angie. He had only been more lucky.

But here he was. First Alex Radkowski, now poor Ethan. He had killed them with a sadistic pleasure that scared him more than anything else.

There was only one thing left to do: He had to go to the police. Back then, he was never questioned, they didn't even investigate Angie's death. It was a suicide and nobody wanted to talk about it.

But his fault in Alex' and Ethan's death was obvious. He would probably get the death sentence. He was dangerous. Or they would lock him up in an asylum. Electric shocks, restraints, loneliness. Just what he deserved for his crimes. At least he wouldn't be a threat to anyone. Jenna, Scott, whatever child would cross his path.

He stood up and stalked over to the kitchen on stiff legs, much like back then in the gravel lot in the middle of nowhere. The flat was empty and Scott hadn't left him a note. Vincent got himself a glass of water before going to his room to put on his uniform. Would Freddy's even open after the incident?

Considering the past accidents, what did the death of a 16 year old boy mean to that company?

Vincent blinked at his reflection in confusion. He looked... he looked well rested. His face was still slightly crumpled and he had to brush his hair, but otherwise he looked astoundingly healthy. The clock said half past seven in the evening. More than enough time to rest, it seemed.

The scratch on his eyebrow was almost gone and the bruises, even those on his knees, had faded to a soft yellow. The scratch on his back stung a little. Vincent didn't bother to look at it. He had been close to a nervous breakdown yesterday, hell, he had gotten one, no wonder he had thought the injury was worse than it was.

He put on his uniform and straightened the tie.

Of course he wouldn't go to the police. That would mean pulling Scott into this. He only knew about Alex, but that was more than enough to get him on trial as a conspirator. He was a chatter box, but also a loyal friend. He would never sell Vincent out.

 _Like a good doggie. No need for a leash._

Vincent gritted his teeth and almost ran into the bathroom. One last night shift. He had things to do.

Because he was a coward. He would run away from his deeds like he had run away from his family, leaving his love to suffer. He did what he did, only to protect himself, pretending to help those he cared for. In the end he was just that:

A miserable coward.

Vincent brushed his hair, not bothering to put it into a ponytail this time. A hint of pain wafted through his back, but it was faint. Instead, his hand brushed the scar on his arm. Anna had chided him for that the next day, telling him how dangerous it was to leave such a gash untreated. But her anger had only been worried formality. She had welcomed them like her own kids, after they had spent night and day in the car. Despite the heat, Scott had snuggled up to his friend, his tears now exhausted and soundless.

Anna Goldwyn's farm was in the middle of nowhere. She didn't even have very good TV reception. For the rest of that summer, Scott and Vincent were practically cut off from the outside world and it gave them all the time to grieve and cope with the loss of their best friend and home.

Anna had also been the one to find the flat they still lived in. She got to know about it through a friend, who had a friend down in Florida, and that friend knew someone who knew Pamela Barnes, or maybe it was a friend of that last friend. With that kind of back-up they had gotten the flat, and gotten through college and God knew how Victor even found out where they lived.

Vincent got his keys and left.

"Good evening, Mrs. Barnes," he greeted politely. Pamela sat down her groceries and smiled at him.

"Good evening, Vincent." She scrutinized him. "Are you feeling well? What about your knees?"

"Much better, thank you."

She nodded, satisfied. "If you see Scott, tell him he needs more rest. He looked horrible."

"I will." He waved goodbye and got his car, his thoughts far off.

Pamela hadn't asked him about what happened. If she didn't know... that could only mean the incident at Freddy's wasn't public knowledge yet. The thought actually made him smile.

It felt horrible. Why should he be happy?

He could only pray Jenna was already gone when he arrived, but he didn't get his hopes up.

He was right. When he parked his car, this time in front of the main entrance, and entered, the restaurant was already emptied except for the employees. They had gathered on the middle table in the Show Room. The stage was empty.

Scott's face went pale when he saw him, but he didn't say anything and for a while, nobody noticed Vincent standing in the door.

Every last one of them was there. Danny still had his arm in a sling, but he was wearing his uniform again, so he must have been working the day. They all looked shocked and upset, displaying various levels of control over their feelings. Scott was silently staring at the checkered tablecloth. Ramirez and the part-timer, Gordon, were exchanging a few words here and there, just staring gloomily at one spot. William looked like he had been crying, but tried to contain himself.

Molly was a mess. Danny had laid his good arm around her, William sat on the other side and stroked her hair, but to no avail. The girl looked younger and more fragile than ever.

Once again she was wearing these ridiculous unfitting clothes, in patterns and colors that didn't match and revealed too much even for her purpose. Her make-up had long been smeared as she sobbed into Danny's shirt.

Jenna was sitting quietly next to Scott, looking helpless and scared. Vincent wanted nothing more than to go to her, comfort her and tell her it would be alright. Like he should have done with Angie.

What a joke. He of all people. He should go and come back later, when he could be alone. He couldn't face them yet. Especially not Molly. She might not know it, but her brother was right here. And the man that had taken him.

"Victor!" Adrian's voice made everybody flinch. The old man slid off the Stage where he had been sitting and ushered him into the room. He looked even worse than yesterday, tired and gray and in pain. Vincent almost smiled about his silly worries. What did Adrian matter? This whole "mystery" had become meaningless in less than a few minutes. Vincent didn't even bother to correct him on the name.

Silence had fallen over the room. Vincent had learned not to squirm under the gazes of others, but inside, he was fighting the urge to run away. Everybody stared at him, and he felt like they could all see his sin, like a dirty mark he could never erase again.

Molly sniffed and returned to her safe haven in Danny's arms. The others got back to whatever kind of exhausted apathy they had been in. Vincent made a step forward, unsure what to do or say. He had no idea how not to confess all his mistakes right away. More to the point, not to sell himself out.

"Hey." He winced at Jenna's touch. He hadn't noticed her standing up and coming over. She looked as tired as everyone, shaken and exhausted from pretending it to be a normal day.

Vincent wanted to enjoy her hand around his, cold now, but he knew he couldn't. What right did he have?

Jenna led him to the benches and they sat down right across from the sobbing Molly.

"Ethan disappeared last night," Danny said suddenly. His voice was rough and he looked like he had been crying until a short while ago as well. But somehow, he had a grip on himself. Jenna was right, he was stronger than met the eye.

"He might have sneaked out, but to where..." He left the sentence hanging in the stale air and avoided his eyes.

"Why should he?", Molly whimpered. "Why? What did he want to do? And why not ask me?" Her words were a blubber, next to inaudible.

Vincent said nothing. What could he have said without seeming suspicious? He gasped in pain when something pressed on his wounded shoulder. Jenna had laid an arm around him and after a moment of reluctance, he leaned into her embrace. What else could he do? In the end, humans were selfish and her touch was a blessing he had not expected nor deserved.

"Mr. Vincent what happened yesterday?", Molly whispered.

He could barely look up. Jenna was stroking his hair and he felt unnaturally calm.

"What happened to Pete?"

"Yes, the police would like a formal statement about that too at some point," Adrian interrupted. This time, authority did not protect him from the glares Danny, Jenna, William and even Scott shot him. He ignored it, but not as casually as he might have at some other point.

"I noticed some movement behind the curtain," Vincent said after a moment. He had told this story once before, but he wasn't sure about the details anymore. He had traveled back seven years to see Angie die. His memories of the past night were fuzzy and faded as if it had been much longer ago than their exodus.

"And when I got there, Pete had already put on the Golden Freddy suit..." A shudder went through his body when he remembered Pete's screams. The sounds of breaking bones and tearing flesh. The blood. He didn't expect it, and couldn't stifle his sob completely. It wasn't so much the gore. It was the desperation in Pete's voice, his fear and begging, his anxious trust in Vincent's abilities. Ethan's trust, his fight, his panic, his death. And the voice deep down, laughing.

Jenna wrapped her arms around him, resting his head on her shoulder. She didn't say anything, just held him and caressed his hair. Vincent was surprised he could still cry. He did, without a sound, the others watching him in tired sympathy.

"You don't have to stay," Scott said eventually. He didn't even bother to look at Adrian for permission. "The backstage is still closed off and with all that racket nobody will dare to enter."

Vincent didn't answer for quite a while. Jenna wiped his face with a handkerchief and it felt good. He didn't want to change his position and he didn't want to answer. What should he say?

He was a coward and he needed to get rid of the traces.

"One last night." Jenna shifted uncomfortably and let him go. Vincent straightened up and rubbed his face.  
"You shouldn't stay in this place at night. Not alone," Jenna said.

"She's right," Adrian confirmed. "This is no happy place anymore. Not until we've remodeled everything. You've been through too much already."

Vincent shook his head. "It's alright. I- I need time alone. What about Ethan?"

"They've organized search parties," Molly croaked. She had finally stopped crying and huddled into Danny's chest. "Why would he run away? He never goes anywhere he doesn't know."

"Are you sure Pete was alone?", Adrian asked.

"Yes." What if they searched the building now? The police hadn't bothered to look into the rest of the pizzeria. It was an accident, not murder. Not yet. But the others looking for Ethan...

"He'll go somewhere he knows," Danny said, stroking Molly's hair. "Maybe he got scared by the people and hid and is too afraid to go home."

Nobody answered. Molly hadn't lost the last tiny bit of hope yet. There was no point in shattering it just now. A clock that hadn't been there before struck half past eight. They all winced.

William stood up, clearly uncomfortable. "I... I think it's better if we get some rest. Molly, should I bring you home?"

Molly looked up at him in a blank stare and pressed herself against Danny even more.

"I'm coming with you," Danny promised. Molly hesitated, then got up, never letting go of Danny's hand.

"Jen?", he asked.

"I can walk," she said. "Go."

"I'll be off too," the part-timer whose name Vincent kept forgetting said. George Ramirez followed, not able to hide his relief. He clapped Vincent on the shoulder and fled before Vincent could even react to the pain shooting through his back.

"I can stay, if you want," Jenna proposed. She shot Scott a meaningful glance.

"I, uh, boss, can I go?"

"Of course. Get some rest," Adrian said, not dropping his fatherly demeanor for a second. "Vincent, I can't force you to go, but I'm not happy with this. Take care."

"I will." Adrian had used his real name for once. How strange.

He nodded at Scott. No fake smiles anymore. No charade, just the truth. Or a part of the truth. Scott mumbled a goodbye and left, casting nervous glances back until he was out of sight. What did he suspect? He wasn't an idiot. The only idiot was Vincent, for thinking his friend would fail to add two and two.

"Vince." Jenna sounded as if she had repeated herself many times. "Hey." She wiped a soaked strand out of his eyes. "You don't have to stay here. Or at least not alone."

On any other day, Vincent would have rejoiced at these words. All alone with his Jenna.

"No." She raised her eyebrows as if he had said he was from Mars. "No, Jen, that's nice of you, but I can't. Please understand."

She stared at him for several seconds, until Adrian laid an hand on her shoulder. "You know how men are, dear. Come on." Vincent could have jumped at the old man just for touching her. But the bigger part of him was relieved. It was a good excuse. For once, the old man was on his side, intentionally or not.

Jenna hesitated again before standing up. Vincent did as well. He couldn't keep Adrian from planting stupid ideas in her head afterwards, but he could at least bring her to the door. He was a gentleman, after all.

 _Do you really think she would still like you after all this? A relationship is built on trust. How can she trust you? You're a monster in the guise of a man. If she should ever get so much as a glimpse on your true self, she will reject you._

 _How can you think you deserve anything better, you monster?_

Adrian waited at the door for them. Vincent was too numb to care about anything. He hugged Jenna and rested his head on her neck. Her skin was so wonderfully soft and she smelled of wildflowers. He would never hurt her.

"Shall I walk you home, Jenna?", Adrian interrupted them. Vincent straightened up and stepped back. He might not deserve any of this. But like hell he would let Adrian get what he wanted.

"Thanks, but I'd rather be alone," Jenna said sternly.

Adrian nodded. His falcon eyes never left them. "Of course. We will contact you once we figured out how the work schedules will be during remodeling. If you want to help."

Jenna shrugged. "I guess." She touched Vincent's hand again and he wondered why the cute little frown on her face deepened even more. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

He nodded. Adrian gave him the ring of keys and then both were gone.

Vincent didn't move. He stood in the doors and felt the setting sun burn into his skin and eyes. Some sarcastic part waited for him to burst into flames like a vampire. When that failed to happen, he went inside and closed the doors, locking them.

And now?

He had hours to pass until he could get to work. It was a stereotype, but he couldn't get rid of the corpse before it was dark. He cringed at the thought. A corpse, a tiny human he had known, not necessarily liked, but who didn't deserve his fate. What had happened to Alex? Her fragile, broken body had been examined and then buried. Ethan wouldn't get that kind of respect, unless Vincent gave it to him.

Vincent laughed. It wasn't happy, or the gruesome, cruel laugh of the monster. His voice resounded hollow against the empty rooms. He of all people would give the kid the respect he deserved? The burial he deserved?

"Good job, Vinny, now you've gone crazy after all."

It was the first time somebody had called him Vinny since Angie's death. It felt horrible. Vinny had been a teenager, an innocent boy, tormented by his family, just trying to survive.

 _I think we both know that's not true._

Vincent spun at the voice. The room was empty. He was still standing in front of Kid's Cove, all alone. He grabbed the handle and slammed the door shut. Toy Foxy hadn't stirred in the past nights. In the state he (or she?) was in Vincent doubted the robot could do more than twitch, but better safe than sorry.

Vincent leaned against the closed door and rubbed his temples. He was getting a headache. It was true. He had killed the little girl Aleksandra and simply forgotten about it. In a way, it had not been him. It had been the... that other one. The dark voice, how he had begun to call it in high school. That had been... long after Alex' death. It had been there for longer than he could remember, but it had only been a feeling, all his hatred, and anger, and pain combined into a searing mess of helplessness. It had never been a voice, and he had never allowed it to roam. At least he had thought this until now.

After Angie's death he had been... unpredictable at best. But like so often, his memories of these incidents were fuzzy.

"Go ahead," he mumbled. "Search for excuses. That's what you're best at." It was his father's voice saying these words. It had been his only reactions to the teenager's pleas. Eventually, Vincent gave up and just took his punishment without struggle.

Somebody knocked on the glass doors. Vincent almost screamed, his foot slipping on the smooth tiles. His arm hit the door handle. The impact hurt, but it prevented another fall.

Vincent steadied himself, trying to get the shaking of his body under control before he tripped over his own feet. After another deep breath, he went to the doors. He had half expected it to be Jenna or Adrian, even Scott was a possibility.

"Good evening," Detective Donovan said.


	9. Chapter 8

Vincent blinked at him. _There we go, idiot. They found out. What do you like best:_ _An_ _asylum or the death row? If you go for the asylum, it would be best to act a little more crazy when they put handcuffs on you. Tell them about me. Or just claim you don't know anything._

"Good evening," Vincent said. He didn't try to smile. It wouldn't have worked anyway.

"May I come in?", Donovan asked, peering into the shadows of the entrance hall.

"S-Sure." Vincent stepped aside and the detective walked by him. He was all alone.

 _If we're lucky we can-_

Vincent cut the voice off. He wouldn't listen to that. Any advice the dark voice gave him only led to more horrible things. He wouldn't let anyone make decisions for him.

"I'm surprised you've decided to work," Donovan said, his gaze wandering over the tiles and ceiling.

"Somebody has to." Vincent shrugged his shoulders. "Detective, may I ask why you are here if you didn't expect anyone?"

Donovan sighed. "Just thought I'd try my luck. You just seemed the type to come back. Must be a great place to be alone for a while."

Vincent didn't say anything.

"A little eerie, though." The detective walked into the Show Room and Vincent followed. What else was he to do?

"You don't believe in ghosts, do you?", Vincent joked. His voice was too flat to convey any humor. The detective stopped between the tables and turned around. He looked at Vincent for a few seconds before forcing a laugh.

"I haven't seen one, and I've seen a lot."

Vincent nodded. Donovan looked him up and down once more. The detective was a fierce-looking man, stout and moving like a soldier, but in the shadows of the empty pizzeria he seemed lost, like a child in the woods. Vincent felt his uneasiness. Night was coming and despite having been her for only five shifts, Vincent knew Freddy's better than anyone by now. This was his territory. Donovan was an intruder and he felt it.

"I'm here to look at the security tapes."

Vincent didn't go pale, he didn't even move his face, although even the dark voice cringed noticeably. Tapes? The cameras _recorded_ everything? He hadn't even thought of the possibility. Neither Scott nor Adrian had mentioned anything like that. Sure, the technology was fairly wide spread, but...

"You seem startled," Donovan said.

Vincent looked past him. There were no cameras on the kitchen and backstage, but it would be more than enough to show him carrying Ethan's body around and swiping up the trails he had left.

He would also have evidence of the animatronics' attacks

"Well, yes," Vincent admitted. "There's a camera system, but I... I didn't know that the footage is recorded or where."

Donovan made a sound of agreement. Vincent waited for another reaction. There was none. The detective seemed to be lost in thoughts. Seconds passed, then his eyes focused on the scrawny young man with the strange eyes and hair.

"Maybe we can find out together," Donovan said friendly. "The first step is always to look where you would expect it. In this case I'd say the office."

Vincent nodded. He didn't dare to force a smile. There was nothing he could do right now. Donovan let him go first. Vincent led the way without turning back. His shoulder throbbed and the pain seemed to affect every muscle, from his back to every limb. Donovan had to be watching him. Even if he was not a suspect, the detective was no idiot.

Luckily, Vincent had had a lot of training in hiding pain.

They entered the office and Vincent squinted at the bright lights. For a moment, he felt dizzy, but then he had already reached the desk and could lean on the edge until his vision grew clear again.

Donovan looked around.

"Have you been here before?", Vincent asked. "Sir," he added after a second. His father had always liked being called Sir. Everybody liked that.

"For a moment," Donovan said. He looked around the room and examined the security tablet before following the cables. Vincent had done that himself during the first night, but the cable vanished between two drawers. He was not getting paid to snoop, and he had assumed the junction of the cables was behind the walls. In fact, the cable was hidden so well a casual visitor wouldn't even notice.

Donovan tried one of the drawers and found it locked. Checking the others brought the same result.

"Do you have a key for these?"

Vincent looked through the ring of keys. "I don't think so." He turned around, relieved that this problem had been solved so easily.

Donovan carefully pulled at the front of the drawer until it just popped off like the lid it was. Vincent stared at it. Donovan stared at it, the four feet long piece of metal still in hand. This was no drawer. The whole thing was empty, separated by boards that served as shelves, each one with a recorder. Tapes spun slowly, quietly, recording whatever there was to see.

Vincent sat down in the chair. He felt worse than ever all of a sudden.

The inside of the drawer was coated in Styrofoam, effectively holding in most of the noise.

Every recording device had a different label. Show Stage, Kid's Cove and so on. No kitchen, backstage or office, not even the entrance. That was something, at least.

"How'd you know?", Vincent murmured. He hadn't planned to ask aloud. Donovan sat down the metal lid with a loud _clang_.

The detective shook his head. "I had a funny feeling when I was here this morning. You know, the new technology makes everything easier for us, but I don't trust this. Do you know _1984_?"

"Yes."

Donovan seemed to hear something in his voice, because he didn't ask any more. Vincent didn't move. He was too flustered to do anything and his head felt funny. Probably from the shock.

He hadn't heard anything the nights before. It had been drowned out by the humming of the fan, he assumed. He hadn't investigated the cable any further, he hadn't even thought of the possibility of a record system. Some engineer he was.

"I'll have to take those with me," Donovan broke the silence. He stopped the machines and took out the tapes. "I guess you don't know if there are old tapes here somewhere or if these are erased every so often?"

Vincent shook his head. His thoughts were draped in soft, white plush right now, unable to attach to anything in particular. He was done for. Everything was done for. And while the dark voice was raging, screaming in fury at his stupidity, Vincent was even a bit glad. He believed in justice. He believed there was something like that abstract construct. Sometimes it even came to pass, though not very often. Reality was harsh and unfair. Maybe this one time, the punishment would match the crime. His crime.

"Mr. De Briss?"

Vincent snapped to attention with a small shock wave of pain flaring through his body at the motion. Donovan had taken a plastic bag with the Freddy Fazbear logo, where ever he had found that, and stored all the tapes in it. The detective looked him over.

"Are you sure you're alright? You don't look so well."

Vincent sighed. "Been a rough week."

The detective gave him a sympathetic smile. "Well then, I have to go. I know it's not even my responsibility, but I want to watch these tapes. This will be my last big case and... I don't know. I just feel the kid deserves our best work."

"Yeah, I know. Poor Ethan."

Vincent froze half way between sitting and standing. _Oh come on, what difference does it make now? The moment they see these tapes it's over anyway, why bother?_ He straightened up. Every muscle protested, as if he had been working out too much, just worse.

"So, you've heard of it," Donovan sighed. He leaned against the wall. The tapes clacked faintly when they shifted in the bag. "When?"

Vincent talked before his brain could process the situation. "Molly was here today. I just thought... maybe Ethan is too scared to go home. He knows this place, maybe he comes back. I didn't kn- get to know him that well in the short time, but he trusts Scott. Scott Goldwyn, I mean, the security manager."

"Ah, yes," Donovan said, his aged eyes setting on Vincent again. "You two live together, don't you?"

"We share an apartment, yes," Vincent confirmed. "Tight budget and all."

Donovan scrutinized him and there was a strange gleam to his eyes, not yet disgust, but he didn't say anything. Vincent rubbed his eyes. God, he was already tired again, and his sight didn't seem to focus very well.

"Poor kid," Donovan said. "I know his parents. Nice people. A bit overwhelmed by two kids, but... God, I hope he turns up again."

"Me too," Vincent mumbled.

"I'll leave you to your job then," Donovan said. Vincent followed him to the front entrance. He tried not to look around too much, even though the detective was walking in front of him and didn't turn around. He only glanced at the animatronics once without slowing his pace. Vincent gave them a glower, but of course they didn't respond yet.

The detective stepped outside and turned around. "Thanks for your help." He turned to walk away and stopped again. "One last thing, sonny." Vincent feigned interest, suppressing a frown. _Sonny?_

"Get yourself a drink. You look awful."

"Thanks." Vincent looked after the elderly man until he reached his car, a nondescript dark cruiser. Books always told how even civil policemen are often spotted by typical signs, including their cars, but Vincent didn't see anything particularly telling. It was a car like many else. Donovan got in, put the tapes on the passenger seat and drove away. Vincent watched until the car turned a corner. He didn't want to go back in there. He wanted to forget it ever happened.

 _Maybe they're watching the pizzeria._

Vincent returned inside and locked the doors. His car was out back, away from the street lamps. Why should they? Ethan had gone missing from his home and Pete's death had been an accident. There was no indication to assume Ethan had been abducted – or killed.

 _What are you going to do with the kid?_

Vincent hesitated, halfway through the Show Room. Darkness was slowly setting in, but he had still lots of time to kill.

Ethan couldn't get a real grave. Any indication would lead the police straight to him. Vincent would be the only one to know of the little boy's fate and his resting place.

 _Unless you screw it up. Then he'll get what he deserves._

He couldn't. He mustn't.

 _Good. Now you're on the right track. After all, you want your precious Jenna to like you, right?_

Vincent picked up a faster pace, long strides that brought him to the office in no time. He needed to sit down and think.

Donovan had taken the tapes. No more recordings for this night.

The ghost of a smile crossed Vincent's pale lips, vanishing again like a phantom. What would Donovan think when he saw the attacks? Even if the same tapes were used over and over, the last two nights should still be on there. It would be funny to see his face. And maybe, if Vincent saw them, really saw them, he would finally be sure he wasn't going insane.

 _Stay on topic._

Vincent sat down in the office chair and leaned back to put his feet on the desk. Who was there to stop him? His back cried out at the pressure and he slid down a little further so only his shoulders touched the backrest.

Where would he take the body? Nobody would look into any big dumpster, especially if he put a bit more waste in there as well. That was what the dark voice preferred and it was exactly why Vincent wouldn't do it. Ethan deserved better than that.

He could take the body to Gryffon Park.

 _Too many witnesses._ Right. The parking lot was a popular place for teenagers to make out. Maybe, someday, he and Jenna could go there? Ethan would only make the place a morbid reminder of his mistakes.

Vincent sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Just one more night," he told himself. His back throbbed, but the feeling was dull in the midst of everything else. Maybe it wasn't that bad after all. Scott had done a good job. It was one more scar on his forever white skin. What difference did it make?

He had bigger problems right now. In his fear and confusion he hadn't even thought of getting any equipment. A blanket wouldn't be a problem, he would just take one of the restaurant's plastic tablecloths. But where would he get a shovel and spare clothes? When Jenna arrived he couldn't stand here covered in dirt.

First things first. He had to get Ethan out of Puppet's box and erase the evidence. And he had to do it now, before the lights went out.

It took him way too much effort to get his legs off the desk and to stand up. His sight blurred and Vincent had to grab the tabletop to stay on his feet. This couldn't be good. What the hell was wrong with him?

 _Stop philosophizing and get going._

It was half past ten.

(How in the world had time passed that fast?)

He had barely more than an hour to go until he had to put up the music box and had to think of a way to keep it running while he was away. He would never make it in less than half an hour.

 _Unless you take the easy, safe and simple way._

Vincent ripped the door to the safe room open, the bang cutting out the rest of the voice. Puppet's box was open.

"You got to be kidding," Vincent murmured. He wasn't as shocked as he would have been the day before. A lot of things had changed in a very short time.

Vincent looked around, but the damned thing was nowhere to be seen. He winced at a creaking in the distance. Hadn't Freddy changed his position since Donovan had been here? He wanted to go and investigate, but he had no time for that.

Blood leaked out of the box, red streams flowing over the cart and onto the floor. Vincent stared at it and even in this heat, a shiver ran down his back.

A second stream joined in, on the other side. They poured out of the creaks, leaving complicated patterns on the wooden surface before they dripped down, joining again in a circular puddle, like a small lake. The puddle grew and grew.

Vincent made a step forward and then hesitated again. Where did all that blood come from? Shivering, he hunkered down and extended one hand, but stopped before touching it. The flood reached his shoes and seeped into them, scalding hot. Vincent hissed, losing his balance. He fell to his knees. The protested, but it was drowned out by the burning in his hands. The blood was hot and scalded his skin.

Vincent wanted to jump to his feet, but he couldn't move. He could barely raise his hands from what felt like boiling water, let alone make a sound. More blood flowed out of the box. No body had that much blood, no child. It was steaming and he could smell burning flesh, like a body in the garbage incinerator.

No heavy steps announced the visitor. Freddy simply appeared. It could only be Freddy, even though his body was a strange violet color, barely more than a shadow. Vincent could even see the wall through the body. White teeth shone out of an invisible face with gleaming black eyes. Freddy looked down on him and for some strange reason, he seemed sad.

Vincent returned his stare, unable to do anything else. He knew this gaze. Not someone he knew very well, but he had always been good at picking up details about a person in a short time.

The shadow shook his head and the lights went out.

 _I'm sorry._

 _It's not your fault_ , Alex said. _It's his._

Vincent gasped as the sensations all vanished at once. His body was aching as if he was getting a fever and his knees protested against the pressure put on them. But there was no blood burning him. The outside of the box was clean, there was no puddle. He was kneeling on the floor, shaking and fighting for breath, but he was alone. No Alex. No Freddy.

Vincent grabbed the edge of the box and heaved himself to his feet. That was, he got as far as grabbing the edge and then just heaved.

The cramp didn't take long. He hadn't eaten in almost a day and there was nothing to cough up. Maybe that was good, considering all the cleaning he already had to do.

He sat on the floor for what felt like forever. He had rarely been sick since he was a child and he was used to tough situations. Why now of all times?

 _Interesting. If you let me take charge, we will have this mess dealt with in no time. But I can't reach you when the brat is here._

"Fuck off, Victor!", Vincent spat. He jumped to his feet and somehow managed to stay there, even when the floor seemed to slip out under him. "You got me into this mess in the first place. Just leave me alone. Forever."

The voice only answered with a chuckle and then went silent.

"Go die in a ditch, you bastard," Vincent murmured. He had to get to work. Alex was up already for some reason. Fine then, one less thing to worry about. He would deal with the animatronics once he was back.

Vincent walked over to the closets and checked the clothes stored there. Nothing was exactly his size, but it didn't matter. He changed and rolled up sleeves and pants so he couldn't trip or lose his grip on something. Next, he took out a plastic tablecloth and rolled it out on the ground. It should be just big enough.

He didn't give himself enough time to think before he looked into the box. Ethan had curled up in a ball in there, a kitten in a basket. A very dead kitten in a bloodstained basket.

The boy didn't look like he was sleeping. His face was limp and pale, framed by his dark hair and the stains on the fair wood. Even without all the blood, everyone would know at first glance this little boy's life had ended. The cuts had dried in dark red crusts. Vincent tried to pick him up, and found he couldn't.

He wouldn't cry now, for God's sake. He had more than enough time later on. There was a job to do.

Ethan's shirt had become stiff over time. Vincent stumbled back when the pool of dried blood finally let go of the wood.

Ethan was light, barely more massive than a doll, his limbs dangling as if they were made of rubber. Vincent laid him down on the edge of the tablecloth and began to wrap him. He would have said something, even if there was nobody to hear him, but his thoughts had turned into smoke, untouchable, fleeting, until he barely knew where he was or why he was doing this.

It was a relief not to see Ethan's face anymore, at least not physically. He would see it in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

He tied the bundle up with a cord. His legs shook so badly he needed three attempts to stand up.

 _You need to clean the box._

The wood was heavy enough not to tip over when Vincent put his weight on it. There was a large stain right in the middle and smaller lines on one side. It was less than expected. Ethan's heart hadn't been beating anymore when he was placed in here.

 _You'll never get that out._

No, he wouldn't. He needed to cover it up somehow.

Vincent forced himself to make big steps. If he sat down to rest now he probably wouldn't get up anymore. There was still time until the lights went out, but not much.

His steps sounded hollow on the tiles. What if Donovan decided to come back for another check-up?

The storage was as quiet as the rest of Freddy's. Vincent didn't shed a glance on the toy animatronics and only brushed Foxy once. Alex was already awake. The rules had changed and he didn't know if it was for the better. But he had no time to think about that now.

He had organized the shelves on his first day. Somewhere here had been paint cans...

 _That's too obvious._

"Then make a suggestion, or shut up," Vincent growled. He looked over the shelves once more, but his eyes didn't want to focus on anything. His heart was beating faster than it was supposed to and he was getting a headache.

Something creaked behind him. Vincent spun, stumbling against the shelf. It rattled loudly and something brushed his arm when it fluttered down. Sandpaper. Just what he needed.

 _Look for a spatula._

It was at the far right, with all the stuff he hadn't thought he would need for his mechanic's job. Once he found everything, he left the Storage as quickly as possible. Being close to the animatronics didn't help his frayed nerves. He wanted to grab his key ring and found he didn't have it. It was probably lying either in the office or in the Safe Room. Vincent cursed himself, but didn't ponder on it. Almost half past ten.

Getting the blood off the crate was slow and agonizing work. He had to lie over the edge of the box with the blood rushing into his head. It was next to impossible to work for more than a few minutes at a time. The dark voice kept reminding him not to sit down and rest, for a reason Vincent didn't have the strength to care about. The spatula kept breaking off chips of wood, but it got rid of all the blood and when he had smoothed it down with the sandpaper, the box almost looked like it should.

Vincent ignored the dark voice's bickering and sat down on the cart. His hands were icy despite the sweat covering his body and his breathing was so rapid he might as well have just run a marathon.

"I'm okay," he said aloud.

 _No, you're not. But we have to finish this first._

Vincent was about to tell him to shut the fuck up when the lights went out. Vincent sighed. Every muscle seemed to be sore, but he pushed himself to his feet.

He crossed the pizzeria without as much as looking at the animatronics. The key was lying on the office desk. In the lowest drawer he even found his belt with two flashlights. Who had put it there? It didn't matter.

The next minutes were a blur in his memory. He put on the belt, opened the back door and drove his car as close as he could. The next moment of conscious thought happened when he picked up the rustling bundle Ethan had become. The little body was stiff thanks to the foil and hard to carry.

The animatronics hadn't stirred yet when he passed the stage. Vincent didn't dare to stop. He pushed open the door to the kitchen and bolted through the room with all the strength he could muster.

He wasn't sure how long he was going to be able to keep going.

 _They're not watching the pizzeria. They're not suspicious. I'm fine._

The dark voice did not comment. Vincent had left the trunk open and could easily store Ethan in it. It didn't change his initial problem. He didn't even have a shovel and no idea where he could go.

 _The old bitch Pamela has one. Ask Scott, he always has a plan._

"I'm not dragging him into this!", Vincent hissed.

 _He'll never betray you. He's weak, but he could take an interrogation._

"Scott stays out of this!", Vincent snapped and slammed the trunk shut. He couldn't just go and buy a shovel in the state he was. Everyone would remember him. They usually did.

Why did all people in books go and buy everything so they could be tracked down by the bills or their appearance? Why did nobody have a goddamn shovel?

 _What about that one?_

Vincent turned to the wall on the left and there it was: A shovel. He blinked at it.

"Am I hallucinating again?"

 _Not at all. Somebody placed it there, I'd say._

"Well, if it's a trap I'm screwed either way. Without a shovel I'm not getting anywhere."

 _You don't even know where to go and will not take the easy-_

"I do."

The dark voice shut up. Vincent grabbed the shovel, locked the back door and got into his car. The dark voice was silent for a few more seconds. When it spoke, it was almost hesitant. _You do?_

"Sure." He started the engine. The tires crunched on the gravel when he turned off the back lot. The dark voice kept quiet and Vincent was glad about that. It was difficult enough to concentrate on the road. The bright spots of the street lamps blinded him at times and he was glad to turn out of the city, with only his headlights to keep him company. He followed the highway for a while without so much as seeing another vehicle.

 _So, where_ are _we going?_

"Gryffon Park." He ignored the dark voice as it cursed, calling him an idiot and asked how he had gotten that idea. Eventually it seemed to become tired of being ignored and settled down to a growl. _That's not even the right direction._

Something ran across the road only yards in front of the car. Vincent flinched and the car swerved dangerously close to the dirt shoulder. He slowed down to a crawl and let the car guide itself for a few seconds. His muscles felt like they were disintegrating fiber by fiber. And like that he was supposed to dig a hole that would hide Ethan forever?

 _You've always been a pitiful weakling._

Vincent opened his eyes and stomped down the accelerator. "Fuck you, Dad." The car's run-down back tires fishtailed when he skittered off the highway and down the exit back to town. He swerved off the paved roads onto a tiny stretch of dirt that looked vaguely different from its surroundings. For a while, there was only the sound of the tires and Vincent's far too labored breathing as the light of the city came closer again and he slowed down.

There weren't enough trees to call it a wood, only a few dried-up oaks that stood their ground. The low wall around the graveyard had eroded over the years to the height of a child's head and the metal gate was only a hard glance away from falling out of its frame, if the frame didn't fall apart first.

Vincent stopped the car right in front of the gate and killed the engine. He didn't dare close his eyes for too long, but he gave himself time for a few deep breaths. The gash on his back had been pounding all along, and screamed out when he got out of the car.

The air was almost too still. Not even cars could be heard from the other end of the area. Gryffon Park began a mile north and there were no parking lots or other roads around. The graveyard had a bad reputation and not even the most adventurous kids were stupid enough to come here at night.

Vincent opened the trunk and grabbed the shovel. "You're pretty brave, Ethan," he said. And now? He didn't have a bag and he couldn't carry both at the same time. Sighing, Vincent went to the wall and threw the shovel on the other side.

He picked up the stiff bundle in his trunk, trying to ignore the tearing in his back. He left the trunk open. Who would be here to notice?

 _I'm impressed_ , the dark voice said eventually. It sounded surprised, and, even worse, completely honest.

"I don't need your approval." Vincent headed for the lowest piece of the wall and threw his leg over it. The motion almost knocked him off his feet, a fall he might not have recovered from. Instead, he ended up in an awkward, painful sitting position on the fractured stones. He pressed Ethan even tighter to his chest and carefully heaved the other leg over as well.

"Nor do I need your help." The motion took his balance and he wavered, his feet threatening to lose contact with the ground again.

 _Just drop the stupid brat already before you fall, moron._

"No." Vincent stood on the other side of the wall, his heart hammering and skin cold, but he stood. "See?"

The dark voice didn't comment. Vincent looked over the area. The tombstones were grown over and fractured from weather and vandalism, forgotten under nature's influence. Only few still stood out, ugly shadows in between unkempt grass. In the darkness the cemetery was just an uneven field, sprinkled with rough stones that marked where once beloved or less beloved people had been laid to rest.

"You'll be in good company."

 _Who cares?_

Vincent ground his teeth instead of replying and walked over the old cemetery in search for a good spot. Any would be alright, he assumed, but he could go without digging up anything or hitting a buried headstone half way in. It took longer than he liked or his body was happy with. Without light he needed to set every step carefully and even so he stumbled more than once. Eventually, he found a spot, between two graves that had not been vandalized, instead growing over with tall weeds of an unknown species. He had never been into plants.

Vincent put the plastic bundle down and went to retrieve his shovel.

 _What about the flashlight?_

Vincent only shook his head. His eyes had adjusted and he enjoyed the darkness. It was calming, unlike the painful, bright glares he usually had to cope with. He felt a little better now. His shoulder blade was still on fire and he was feeling hot and cold at once in the warm air, but a strange kind of euphoria had set in. He had a plan. Nobody took control over his life anymore.

In a whiff of adventure lust, he climbed back over the wall and closed the trunk of his car before going back. He was half over the wall again when tires crunched on the dirt behind him. Vincent wanted to whip around. The movement robbed him of his balance and he crashed to the ground on the back of the wall, landing in a stretch of dry weeds that stung his nose.

A car came to a halt and the engine died. Somebody got out. The steps were heavy and the person was panting just like him. Vincent didn't dare to hold his breath, only tried to keep it flat and quiet. His lungs felt like bursting and the sound of his own heart was deafening. Even if he had wanted to run, he couldn't have. He couldn't even stand up. So he stayed, lying on his belly in the weeds, frozen like a rabbit and praying whoever that person was, it was not looking for him.

The gate rattled when something heavy slammed against it. There was a pause that seemed like a millennium and that was only filled with Vincent's panicked attempts to keep quiet.

"Fuck," a male voice growled from the direction of the gate. Another deafening bang and the gate gave way. The cloud of dust shone in the dim light of the moon.

Vincent held his breath. He could feel a sneeze building up. For once, the dark voice didn't have any clever remarks. Of course it didn't.

The man stomped back to his car and opened the trunk.

His throat was itching like hell. The weeds tickled his face. His back hurt and he couldn't hold his head up long enough. Vincent made the mistake of inhaling too close to the ground.

The sneeze cut through the night like a gunshot.

Silence.

Vincent stared at the darkness that should be dirt and dried plants in daylight. Some part of his mind was panicking, trying to make plans, but mostly he felt numb. Now it was all over. Maybe that was good.

The only sounds were the man's loud breathing and Vincent's own heart, even louder. Why didn't the stranger hear that? What was he doing here anyway?

"What the hell," the man murmured and his stomping continued. Something landed on the ground with a thud, followed by the vibrating clang of metal, before the trunk slammed shut again. The man grunted as he picked up something that sounded like... plastic?

Vincent wavered between crying and laughing hysterically. _What are the chances?_ , the dark voice mused. _That of all times, in this night somebody else than you comes to this place to get rid of a corpse._

Vincent didn't know and didn't care. He stayed where he was. The man stomped past him into the cemetery grunting to himself without looking around. He was about Scott's height and twice his weight. There was a kind of bag wobbling on his shoulder and he carried a long plastic bundle with one single, slim foot sticking out. There was no blood, nothing. Just this dark foot.

The man vanished from sight and Vincent dared to lower his head on his arms. He just wanted to close his eyes for a little while. That wasn't too much to ask, right?

 _Get up, freak._

Vincent growled and forced himself to stand. His whole body was trembling from the effort and he was glad when he could lean against the wall. The man had to be close, although it was quiet and he could see nothing in the darkness.

"Fuck!" There was a crash and several thuds. Vincent winced and his knees buckled, unable to compensate the shift of balance. The ground was already matted where he had laid, but still soft enough to take most of the pain out of the fall. Vincent could feel the grass tickling his neck, the weight pressing on his wound. The man cursed in the distance.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

Vincent felt like laughing and crying and cursing and a lot of other things. None of them was hurting someone, neither a person close to him nor a stranger.

Everything had gone horribly wrong, from the day he had been born. If there was ever such a thing like curses, he knew what it felt like.

"What the heck... shit!" The man kept grunting while he struggled to his feet.

 _Looks like you don't have to worry about the brat after all._

"Stop calling him that," Vincent whispered. "This is all your fault."

 _Oh well, I can't deny it. It was a lot of fun to hear him scream. The little shit was stronger than one would have guessed, eh? Now then, don't pass out. You've got work to do. We need a better hiding spot until our new friend has buried our trash._

Vincent didn't try to protest anymore. He was completely taken up by forcing his sore body to move. Every second hurt and the dark voice was impressed. He was running on pure stubbornness by now. Vincent inched his way closer, keeping well behind anything providing cover. The other man didn't look around. He was busy digging into the earth with a shovel he had brought himself. Vincent's tool and the ridiculously bright bundle with the Fazbear logo on top lay next to the man's "prize". He muttered incoherently as he dug, his breath coming out in deep, ugly grunts.

Vincent felt his legs giving way and slowly lowered his knees on the dry dirt, leaning against a tall, slim gravestone that hadn't fallen victim to the elements yet. He stayed there, while the man – a fat, sunburned individual without a visible face – broke his way through soil and stones, panting, cursing, until he was satisfied with the depth of the grave.

Vincent leaned against the stone and let his thoughts drift across space and time. Who was that other man? Who was the woman he had brought here? Why had he killed her? Did he have a good reason? Was he in fact a good man without a different choice? Did he have his own dark voice?

No. He wouldn't have one. This was simply Vincent looking for excuses, for sympathy, for someone like himself..

In fact, they were. One had killed a woman, for one reason or the other. One had killed a little boy for a reason he did not understand or did not want to understand.

And just like that, he dozed off.

After an indeterminable time span, the sound of metal on metal startled Vincent out of his exhausted semi-unconsciousness. It was dark. A heavy cloth had settled upon him. No, it was plastic, he was wrapped in it and now it was covered in dirt. Inch by inch, he was being buried. It was icy, and quiet. He could hear worms moving, they were coming closer and soon they would began to eat away at his flesh until nothing was left. He would stay here, forever. Alone and cold and trapped and...

The fat man shut the zipper of his bag. Vincent forced himself to breathe calmly, even though his heart was racing and every part of him screamed for oxygen. He couldn't let the other man know he was here. He couldn't defend himself like this. He would end up like Ethan, lonely and cold and to be eaten slowly...

 _You were always a weakling._

Vincent gritted his teeth, stifling a response. The man picked up his bag and stomped away in a wave of sweat and grunted curses. Vincent listened to his steps on the dirt, banging over the fallen metal gate and crunching on the gravel. The bag was tossed down with a rattling clang, and the trunk slammed shut again. A car door, much less rusty than that of Vincent's, opened and closed and then the motor began to purr. The tires turned on the gravel as the car reversed with a howling of its no doubt expensive engine. Vincent closed his eyes and counted the seconds until the sound faded away in the distance. This had been ridiculously easy.

 _Don't jinx it, idiot. Get going._

Vincent tried to get up. His legs didn't even twitch. He blinked and tried again. Still nothing. His body had gone in a state of comfortable numbness. "Huh," he said. "That's weird." The words came out as a slurred mass of consonants.

 _Get up._ Vincent tried to move a little, even if he couldn't get up yet. The dark voice sounded urgent, almost... afraid and that stirred up a restless uneasiness he couldn't explain.

"A few minutes don't matter..." The pain had faded into a background noise, like a cold that had not yet broken out.

 _They do._

His eyes settled on the horizon. Vincent sighed. He hated bright lights, but this was actually pretty. The dark blue and black sky slowly began to fade into the pastel colors of morning.

Vincent stopped, not physically, but never the less some kind of stop.

Sunrise.

The realization was like a punch to the stomach. The sun was coming up. It had to be at least four o'clock and he was sitting here dreaming like an idiot.

"Damn." He tried to push away from the stone. At first, nothing happened. Then a cramp ran through his body from his shoulder into the tiniest fiber. He gasped, unable to scream, and doubled over. But at least now he was moving again. His limbs felt like they were filled with broken glass, but he slowly got his legs under himself and managed a crouching position. It was undignified, but he was moving. He had to get on with it, and if he had to crawl, he would.

 _What the hell are you doing? You need to get back!_

Vincent ran his fingers over the loose earth. The patch was vaguely rectangular, only an inch higher than the surrounding vegetation. Grass and weeds were poking out, but in the sun-burned soil of Florida the patch didn't stand out. In a few weeks, when rain would begin to fall eventually, nobody would get the idea this was the last resting place of a little boy everybody was searching for. At least the woman, whoever she was, would keep him company now. Had she been a mother? A sister? It didn't matter, he assumed. All that mattered was that she was here now, by chance or fate, and that she would stay with Ethan. She would keep the fear away.

"Shut up," Vincent said, even though the dark voice had not even gotten to the attempt of speaking.

"Sleep tight, Ethan."

He got into to his car and then drove back to Freddy's. He must have done that, although afterwards, Vincent could not remember how, or what happened during that period of time. He parked the car where it had been and got out. Somewhere, he had read the police could track someone down by matching the dirt on the car with the crime scene. He would have to clean it soon, and maybe get it dirty again to not seem suspicious.

Right now, he didn't feel like he would be able to even make another step. He did, of course. He walked all the way to Freddy's, unlocked the back door, walked through the kitchen and Show Room into the Safe Room and got his clothes, before heading for the bathroom. He didn't need light. The roof windows let in the gleam of dawn and his eyes were well adjusted. If only it would be like this everywhere. The details were reasonably clear, no bright lights were glaring into his eyes. It was beautiful.

He stripped off the dirty, too big clothes in front of the sink. Every muscle seemed tense to the point of snapping, but he managed to do so without losing his balance. The cold water felt lukewarm on his clammy skin. It was a tedious task to rinse off sweat and dirt, and it failed to make him feel much better. His shoulder pounded in the rhythm of his far too rapid heartbeat.

A clock struck half past four.

Vincent grimaced at the pain when the shirt of his uniform brushed the stitches as he put it on. The whole area felt swollen and hot. He didn't dare to twist his back enough to look at it in the dim lights.

He even cleaned his shoes before putting them back on. With a bit of luck, Vika would clean everything without a second thought. All traces gone, just like that.

 _Don't forget your hair._

"Right..." Where the rest of his body had been cold, his head felt like the sun itself. The water in comparison could as well have been right out of the ice box. He gasped, breathed in water and began to cough, until it was only the sink keeping him on his feet. But even after that, he stayed where he was, letting the water soak his hair until it was a heavy curtain covering his eyes and sticking to his heated skin.

 _That won't help you. Come on, it's almost done._

"I don't need your advice, Victor." Vincent turned off the water and straightened up. It wasn't a big improvement, but the water had cooled what felt like the worst fever he ever had. He wrung out the dripping strands and slicked his hair back. It would dry again in the matter of minutes.

While he gathered the dirty clothes and brought them to his car, he thought of the others. Danny took care of Molly for now. The girl was in love, she was young and scared. He pitied her, and he wished he could apologize. If Danny...? No way. Danny wasn't an idiot. He wasn't even interested in the girl, not on a romantic level at least.

But Jenna... Jenna had come so close to him. Today she had only wanted to comfort him after a strange and horrifying day. They had all been exhausted and confused and he was closest to the events. She was always ready to help. No wonder she wanted to become a doctor. She would be great at it. Today it had only been a sympathetic gesture. Tomorrow it would be different.

He put the clothes in his trunk and locked the car. He needed to get rid of them, or at least wash out the traces of his odyssey. That was it. No more evidence, if he didn't bust it.

Maybe... maybe Jenna would turn up soon. He didn't feel well, to put it mildly. He could use her comfort right now, and a guess what might be wrong with him. This didn't feel like a flu anymore. He knew pain, and this felt much worse than any of the beatings his father had dealt him in his teenage years.

Vincent stopped in front of the door to the Show Room. It was absurd. It was hilarious in a way that made him want to break into insane laughter on the spot.

He had forgotten all about the animatronics.

Alex had already been out when he left, so he hadn't bothered with the music box. He should have expected them to greet him, but instead, nothing. Not even a sound. It was as if they let him get away on purpose this time.

The dark voice had nothing helpful to add. It had retreated to wherever it hid when it wasn't out to make his life a living nightmare.

"Well, thanks for the assist," Vincent mumbled. Standing here would accomplish nothing. Maybe he could go to the office, lock the door and just wait until his replacement came. Morning was here, time was flying. He wouldn't have a chance against the animatronics in any case. The last night was almost over.

Vincent pushed open the door and walked inside.


	10. Chapter 9

Thank for your patience. I'm a bit caught up with other things right now, but now the first story arc is done. Hopefull the Missing Children Incident works equally well.

* * *

The door to the kitchen slammed shut behind him. Vincent didn't exactly feel like breaking into song, but the relief he felt was genuine enough. There was more than enough time to get himself together. He didn't want Jenna to see him like this, but he wasn't exactly in a state to argue either. She was a future doctor, maybe she had an idea.

All lights flashed to life with a single evil _thud._ Vincent hissed in pain and stumbled back against the door, shielding his eyes. How did this happen? Even the off chance the generators activated earlier, Freddy's electric lighting had never been particularly good. They relied on the roof windows to conserve power.

He heard the steps almost too late. No, they couldn't attack him now! Why would they wait for so long? He threw himself out of the way at the last instant. Something missed him so close he could feel the air brushing him and crashed into the door, leaving the deep resonance of metal.

"What the hell?"

 _Screw this, just get out of here._ Just this once, Vincent would gladly oblige. Where should he go? The door had to be somewhere behind him. Or maybe more to the left? He couldn't see a damn thing in this brightness. The front doors then. If he looked at the floor he should be able to-

Something caught his belt and gave a huge jerk. Vincent was spun around, almost losing his footing and finally losing all orientation. His keys crashed to the floor and slid away.

Whatever had caught him let go and Vincent felt himself fall, until his hip hit something solid. The impact didn't even hurt. He could place his hands on the even surface and straighten up. Was that... the stage?

His hand was trembling when he reached out over the surface. He had to get out of here. Maybe he could go over the backstage.

His fingers found dusty fake fur over metal. Vincent jerked his hand back. Either Freddy or Bonnie. But if they were here, that meant...

Steps. Someone was panting heavily. Vincent dodged on pure instinct and something crashed on the edge of the stage, making it vibrate.

"Who are you?", Vincent demanded to know. Even if the attacker listened, could he even make out the words?

His eyes finally adjusted as far as allowing blurry outlines in a sea of white. The shape was about his stature, slightly shorter, and held something that could be a crowbar.

The only answer was a strange, wheezing cackle. Vincent didn't dare to turn and run, without any idea where he was in the giant room and legs that felt too heavy to lift.

His foot caught on something and the world tilted.

Somehow, he managed to turn during the fall, landing on his uninjured shoulder instead of his back, but it still made him cry out in pain. Strange enough, the room got a bit darker.

As he struggled to get up again, every muscle pounding, he finally realized why: Whoever this guy was, he had brought floodlights that bathed the whole room in harsh white brightness. He knew exactly about Vincent's issues with bright light. Blinding him had been the plan all along. Vincent had by chance tripped over a floodlight, pulling the plug or simply smashing it.

"You've always been a son of a bitch," the other man rasped.

"No..." Somehow, Vincent got to his feet. "No way." Years and years are enough to teach someone an almost instinctual fear. Vincent retreated, step by step, not even trying to make out where he was.

"You bad, bad boy."

"No, Dad, please..." His back hit a wall. Or more accurate, the doors to the Main Hall. They were locked. Vincent barely noticed the pain in his shoulder while he groped for his keys. But of course, they had been taken. He was no more than a mouse in a maze. This was all an elaborate trap.

"I always knew. I should have been more strict."

He couldn't move. Where should he go to? It had always ended like this, hadn't it? Freddy and his friends were still in place, dark gods residing over the revenge they had been waiting for.

"Oh well, a father can not have everything." He dug into his pocket and raised Vincent's knife. "Don't keep your things lying around, boy." Another of these horrible cackles. Vincent was vaguely surprised his legs were still carrying him. It had always been like this. He hated it. He hated to be so helpless. He hated his family for doing this to him, and he hated himself for being the way he was. "There are the good, the not so good, and the freaks. Time to make the world a bit better."

Vincent couldn't make out anything. The light shone in his eyes and blinded him. Just like back then, just like always. Where was Angie when he needed her?

The next movement in front of him was too blurry to see. A tiny burning line appeared on his lips, from top to bottom. Vincent winced and tasted blood. This was... _different_. Father had never hurt him in places others could easily spot. He didn't want his freak son to give him any more trouble.

"Was it fun, doing this?"

 _That's not Father, you moron._ The dark voice was just a tiny, distant echo, trapped behind a thick wall of the old, paralyzing fear. He was weak. His hate only overwhelmed him when he was alone, when the reason for all his suffering was not there.

Another line flashed over his neck, painful, without being deep enough to be dangerous.

"You're doing the world a favor if you just die," the man panted. "Poor Scott, how he's afraid of what you can do. But he'll always be loyal. That's what dogs do when you train 'em like that."

"Stop talking about him like that." Instead of a protest, Vincent's voice was barely a plea.

 _He'll kill you if you don't do anything now._

And what should he do, Vincent wanted to ask, but couldn't.

"Advice from the voice inside. How useful."

The words did what the dark voice could never have managed: Vincent snapped out of his paralysis. His legs buckled and he almost crashed to the ground. Instead, he fell forward and shoved the man out of the way. The shoulders felt bony and fragile, shaking just as much as Vincent was. The other man was too surprised to stop him and Vincent somehow managed to put some distance between them.

"How... how do you know about Victor?"

The other man laughed. It turned into a cough. Vincent saw the shape double over in the glaring lights.

 _Go!_ , the dark voice barked at him.

"The doors are locked," Vincent murmured. Where should he go? He wasn't sure where exactly he was, only somewhere near the Main Hall. Tables, Chairs, everything could make him fall.

 _Then destroy the floodlights. Take his advantage away._

His legs felt like gel that had been lit on fire, but they moved at his command. Step by step, he limped across the shining, blinding tiles, to the next source of searing light.

"That... doesn't... bring you anywhere," the other man gurgled. Not his father. The abusive tyrant was hundreds of miles away, probably drinking away the last brain cells he had, equally glad to have been rid of his freak son as Vincent was to be gone.

The light got brighter and brighter, until he couldn't even think of opening his eyes. Behind him, the other man slumped to the ground with a thump. Vincent even managed a tiny smile. Maybe he was lucky and...

His foot caught on something. It felt hot even through his shoes. Vincent stumbled, his arm hitting something hard. He managed to wrap his hands around it and ended up in a half-sitting position. There was a ear-piercing bang and the light in the area dimmed. Vincent felt something graze his legs, tearing through the fabric. A sickly burning smell drifted through the air.

He fastened his hands around what he had grabbed and forced his legs to straighten. It felt like a rod with spiraling ornaments and wavered at every movement. The carousel! It was almost a miracle he had somehow made it this far.

"You can't evade justice forever," the other man barked. The crowbar slid over the tiles. The sound made Vincent think of sparks flying from it. The heavy steps stopped pounding on the same spot. They followed the walls and got closer. Quickly.

 _Stop staring, you moron. Get moving._

Vincent didn't want to let go of the feeble support the carousel provided, but he didn't have a better idea either. So he padded on, as fast as he managed. The steps came closer. For someone that seemed to be as sick as Vincent felt, he was fast.

Vincent ripped the cable out of the wall when his foot caught in it. It wound around his leg like an angry snake. He wavered for a moment, before he could throw his weight against the nearest wall. He couldn't fall now. If he did, no matter what the dark voice said, he wouldn't get up again.

The wall rattled and shifted a little. Vincent blinked at it through a haze of tears. His eyes were finally reporting they could take this level of brightness, if only under protest. They told him the wall was not gray but brown. The doors. He had found the doors to the entrance hall. The furthest from his escape he could be.

He had no hopes that could be shattered when he rattled the handles and found them locked. It even sounded like the man had secured a chain from the other side. He had thought of everything.

 _The kitchen. Go._ The door couldn't be locked. He shook off the cable and pushed away from the doors. One step after the other, Scott's grandma had always said. Across the room was the shortest, but he had nothing to hold onto if he stumbled. The tables were too far away.

"You can't evade justice forever, de Briss!"

The voice sounded awfully close, along with the heavy steps, quicker than his own, and the _click click clack_ of the crowbar the man used as a crutch.

He knew the voice, Vincent was sure of that. The sore throat and heavy cough distorted it, wavering between baritone and falsetto like a pubescent boy, but he knew it. His brain was just too exhausted and taken up by the issue of survival to dig more into his memory.

The Prize Corner was a black hole behind the light stationed next to it. He needed the darkness. In the darkness, this was his territory.

"You're not going anywhere!" Vincent wanted to turn, even whip around, but every movement seemed to happen in slow motion. He hadn't even turned his head before a hand dug into his shoulder and he was pushed face first against the thin wall separating the prize corner. The bang was louder in his head than what his ears reported. Stars danced across his rapidly darkening vision.

"You're not dying just yet!" He was spun around and his back hit the sharp edge of the wall. The approaching darkness was flooded with red agony. His own scream seemed distant, although the pain was not.

"Look at me, boy!", the man snapped. "I'm not gonna let you off the hook like that!"

 _You can't just give up!_

His legs gave way under him and Vincent slid to the floor. The fall only took a second, but it seemed much longer. No matter how hard he willed it, he couldn't get his legs to move. Carrying him to safety was out of the question. Was there blood running over his back? It seemed to burn into his clammy skin, but at the same time his head felt like wrapped in cotton wool. Was it all his imagination?

"Who are you?", Vincent heard himself murmur. The man let out a wheezing cackle and set the crowbar down next to his legs with a loud clack. Vincent didn't even have the strength to flinch.

"I'm justice," he spat.

Vincent only looked at the wavering stick-thin legs without moving or seeing. Even through the daze numbing his mind, he knew that voice. The light was still blinding him when he looked directly at the man and he couldn't see any details, but a deep, distant part of his mind knew who he was facing. The knowledge was pushing to the surface bit by bit. He just needed a little more time.

The man was barely more than a stick figure, tall and sickly thin, with wiry muscle. The close cropped hair was a light color, gray maybe. He was bent over from whatever he was suffering, and his spidery arms should not have been able to hold his shovels of hands.

"Adrian?", Vincent croaked.

The old man's laugh echoed in the vast room. He wavered when he tried to bend down and fell heavily on the crowbar. By some miracle, it didn't slide away but helped him keep his balance. He hunkered down and finally Vincent could see his face.

Adrian seemed to have aged a decade in the few hours since Freddy's had closed for the night. The lines in his face had turned into canyons and the skin seemed stretched, almost mummified, letting every bone stand out until he seemed barely more than a skull on a stick. His gray falcon eyes were set deep in their sockets, frosted with a milky white haze of exhaustion. He looked like personified death.

"You were never the brightest bulb, huh? That's how the saying goes, right? Got you a little scared there, daddy boy."

"You don't look so good," Vincent whispered.

Adrian stared at him for several seconds. Then he threw his head back and let out a breathless cackle, his pencil neck bulging while he gasped for air. Eventually, Adrian directed his falcon eyes back to Vincent, staring out of hollow, almost black sockets. Vincent understood him. Whatever rage and hatred he had felt in his life, the contempt for his brother and father, the disappointment in his mother, it all was reflected in those tiny silver points.

"Takes some gut to say that in your state, sonny."

Vincent would have shrugged his shoulders, but they didn't move.

"Ah well." The old man pushed himself to his feet again, groaning and his bones audibly cracking. It sounded a lot like the spring locks for some reason. The light rendered his face a blank plate once more, like a horrible monster lurking to catch its prey.

Adrian began to walk up and down in front of him, just two or three steps in each direction. The crowbar clicked on the floor with each turn in a slow, menacing pattern.

"I'm surprised you managed to run for so long." He coughed and doubled over again, leaning on the crowbar. If Vincent could only kick away that single piece of support. Adrian wouldn't recover from such a fall, not quickly at least.

"I'm trying," he promised, although the dark voice hadn't spoken in a while. And he meant it. He was trying, even though there was no result. The world swam and his body felt bathed in ice water and boiling oil at the same time. There was a faint twitch as he tried to move, nothing more.

A distant part of his mind, way beyond the cloud covering his thoughts, wondered what had taken Adrian down to this in a matter of days, and why nobody had noticed until the day before yesterday.

In the time Vincent needed to direct his thoughts back to the outside world, Adrian had straightened up again and was watching him.

"What happened, kiddo?"

Where was the point in lying? It was over. "Scratched myself. Shower. Pretty bad."

Adrian moved his head in a way that could have been a nod, or the pecking of a bird over its prey. He certainly wasn't surprised.

"You're tougher than you look. Most people would have faltered hours ago... instead you got rid of a corpse and almost escaped. Not bad." He tapped Vincent's leg with the crowbar. The touch, even though it wasn't even close to a painful hit, sent the muscles into a cramp that made Vincent's stomach turn.

"Muscle pain, nausea, you can't pronounce your own name anymore and probably didn't piss all day. I don't even have to finish you off myself. Just lock up Freddy's and leave you to die here. The blood poisoning will finish you off in less than two hours."

He smacked the crowbar down an inch from Vincent's foot. His twisted face contorted even more at the lack of reaction. "I won't. It's an uncomfortable death, sure, but you'll pass out at some point." He cackled again.

 _Time to celebrate, you're not the craziest guy around anymore._

"No, no, no, you're not going that easily. You'll beg me for death. Let's see if you can take your own medicine."

"Why... are you..." Vincent had trouble making out his own question. His lips felt too numb to form coherent words, let alone sentences.

Adrian had raised the crowbar for the first strike, yet now he hesitated. After a moment, he lowered the weapon again. "You don't understand it? Even now?"

Vincent wished he could close his eyes. Resting was all he wanted right now. And yet he couldn't. Adrian wouldn't let him.

" _You know why."_ Was it Adrian speaking? Or the dark voice? Vincent couldn't tell anymore, nor did he care.

"How many lives have you vanquished, you sick bastard? Blaming your... what do you call it? That twisted part of you that loves to hear the screams of innocent kids. The voice... No." A black, painful smile spread over his face. "Victor it was, right? Your twin brother. Your own personal nightmare."

"How'dyuno?", Vincent mumbled.

"Does it matter?" Probably not. Vincent didn't say anything. "Ethan, that was your pattern. But Pete? Stuffing the kid into that suit... I guess you're an engineer at heart after all."

"No..."

"Oh, it wasn't like that? I guess Pete put the thing on himself, then?" Adrian cackled again. "Oh well, it would fit him."

"You..."

The old man waved the crowbar. "Yes, yes, you want to tell me it's my fault. I pushed him to do this, so he could impress poor Molly. I couldn't have thought he was that much of a lovesick idiot."

"Ethunn..."

Adrian waved a hand. "I had to make sure it was you. I mean, yeah, that hair color, even the way you react to bright light, I never saw anyone else like that. But still. Just to be sure." Adrian cocked his head and stared at Vincent for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.

"You act like I'm the one who killed these poor kids. So I gave them a little motivation. And? Everyone does stupid things as a young one. It's not my fault they won't go on to anything else. That's your doing. Yours alone."

He raised the crowbar. Once more, he hesitated. Then he smiled and lowered it again. "No... your own medicine. How could I forget."

It took him a full minute in slow, single movements, until he was in a kneeling position. He put two fingers to Vincent's throat, his head cocked. He didn't seem to like the result. "I guess I have to hurry. Your blood pressure will probably drop to a lethal level in a few minutes. Tell me, Vincent, how much pain do you still feel? Enough so I can say goodbye in a fitting manner?"

He took out Vincent's knife again and drew the tip over the white, sweat-drenched forehead. Some tiny purple hairs rained down. They got caught in the stream of blood running down over his nose.

"Vincent dB," Adrian read the faded letters on the handle. "Are you that proud of your name? Or did you just want to prevent being mistaken for your brother? He was not a giving person, huh?"

Without waiting for an answer, he drew the knife over Vincent's neck before running it over his chest. It sliced open the violet shirt and left a thin red mark on the now bluish pale skin.

"You know, they used to do this in the past. The Romans. The inquisition during the Middle Ages. And even today in the old countries. The stomach is so soft and sensitive, you don't have to inflict lethal damage to make it hurt."

There was light shining from the roof windows. The bright light of the morning. It wouldn't chase away this ghost, of course. That only seemed to affect the animatronics and not in a predictable way either. It didn't matter now. Jenna would call, or even come over soon, at the latest when Scott couldn't get in. Or worse, they did through the back entrance. Vincent could only hope they were late. Adrian wouldn't spare them if they interrupted.

The knife drew a vertical line from the solar plexus to the button of his pants. Vincent couldn't scream, although he would have thought he would. It was strange how he had expected it to be a triviality against his other ailments. It wasn't. Adrian knew what he was doing.

And while he did, with ever more trembling hands, he chattered on. He had been a doctor in the old world. Of course, nobody cared about that here, in the land of the free and brave. He was just an immigrant, with a wife, and children back in the old world. Traveling across the country from New York state to Michigan, always looking for work, making connections, improving his English. Until his family followed, his little granddaughter had been born. From the ice into the sun, to this tiny, insignificant village.

"Everything was going well. Then you came along. I saw you. I saw you run away that day, with blood on your hands. I thought you might have cut yourself. That was long before they found her. And then you were gone, and I couldn't tell anyone. A teenager with purple hair? They would have thought I was crazy."

He ran the blade over Vincent's ribs, one by one. His breath was coming in slow, shallow gasps now. A smile spread on the old man's face when he heard the hint of a whimper.

"Plead as much as you want, Vincent, or Victor, or whatever killed my little girl. It's destiny that you came here again." He paused for a moment before he picked up the crowbar and weighed it in his hand. "Connections. Connections are everything. Pamela, Anna, they all spoke so highly of you. It's funny, really. They had no idea. Even poor Scott didn't know for sure, and he wouldn't dare to obstruct you in any case. I don't blame him. Even Mother Nature can create something wholly unnatural."

"Alex..."

Adrian's head snapped around. Within an instant, he had brought down to crowbar on Vincent's now blood-riddled belly. This time, Vincent did scream.

"Don't you dare calling her like that, you monster!", Adrian snarled. Literal foam started to form at the corners of his mouth. "You took her away. You broke my daughter, you destroyed her mind. You... you..." He grew silent. "Oh."

Adrian turned around and stared up at the Marionette. It bent down its forever smiling face, lined with blue tears. "Hello," Adrian whispered. "My darling."

"Grandfather," the Puppet replied in the voice of a little girl. "You came for me."

"O-Of course I did, love." A shudder ran over the old man's body and he coughed. "I'd never forget you. I'm here to give you justice. So you can find peace."

"You should not have involved others."

"What? B-But Aleksandra, my dear..."

The Puppet bent its head as if in reverence or grief and floated aside. Adrian gasped as a giant black figure stared down at him. There were barely outlines, only stark white teeth in a black form and two dots of eyes. With a bit of imagination, it could have been a bear. "Y-You..."

 _How could you?_ The figure asked. _You used us. You used me._

"You'll find peace," Alex said softly. "See you, granddad. I love you."

Adrian coughed. Unlike before, it didn't stop. He gasped for air, pounded his chest, but to no avail. Vincent watched as the old man writhed on the floor, and eventually grew still. His limbs made a hollow thumping sound as they hit the tiles for the last time. Then it was quiet.

The Marionette looked down on the corpse and Vincent. He could feel the little girl's conflict, torn between grief and rage, bereavement and revenge.

Freddy, or rather the shadow that vaguely resembled Freddy, turned around and vanished. The sun shone into his eyes and when he could see again, also the Puppet had disappeared. It was over.

 _Not bad at all. Didn't think we'd make it._

Vincent didn't answer. No, he hadn't thought he could escape the old man's blind revenge. And if so, he might just die after all. Blood poisoning. That was ridiculous, but also quite logical. If he hadn't been so tired, he might even have remembered why. Not that it mattered.

 _Hey, don't fall asleep!_

It was funny, Vincent noticed. No matter if the voice whispered or screamed, in the end it was just the tone that changed, never the volume. It could yell as much as it wanted to, it was trapped and weak. He was free. Nobody told him what to do anymore. Nobody could touch him.

 _I'm not your enemy._

Vincent smiled. "Maybe." The temperature was rising fast along with the sun. Vincent was shivering anyway. He shouldn't be cold. Blood poisoning, huh? He wasn't even surprised.

 _Looks like Scotty-boy screwed up._

Vincent wanted to at least pull his cut-up shirt closed. Jenna shouldn't see him like this. Then again, in the sorry state he was in, it probably didn't make a difference anymore.

Since he was barely able to lift his head, he was forced to stare at Adrian's corpse the whole time. _Old bastard got a heart attack over his revenge. If that isn't irony._

"Maybe," Vincent croaked, in reality not more than senseless syllables. But at least Adrian now had some kind of peace. He had died in the belief to have gotten his revenge on the man that killed his little girl.

The sun rose fast in summer. Soon the first narrow rectangles appeared on the floor. The room was already burning hot again. Or maybe it was just his body that felt like it was burning up from the inside?

He was unable to even make an attempt at judging the time he sat there, in front of yet another corpse, unable to move. At some point, the flood lights went out and the smell of burning lamps wafted through the room. It didn't make a difference. If the place burned down, he would probably die of asphyxiation if the blood poisoning didn't get him first. Why wasn't he dead yet?

The wall he leaned on came to life. Vincent could feel the soft vibrating hum of the generator more than he heard it. It was six o'clock. His shift was over. If he had the strength, he would have laughed. What did that concern him now?

 _You can't just lie there. Come on._

The utter absurdity of this statement was enough to put a dizzy smile on his now bluish lips. "The others are coming."

 _When did it ever help you to rely on others?_

As much as Vincent hated to admit, that was true. His head felt like a carousel packed in cotton candy, but the rest of his body reported back that he managed to push himself up just a little more. Every movement felt like reaching through broken glass, but he did it.

 _You know, it could have been burglars._

"Huh?" He tried to draw his legs to his body. With the help of the wall, he could maybe...

 _Adrian left the doors open when he came in. They surprised you. They tried to torture the location of the money out of you. You didn't know, so they got to Adrian, but he had a heart attack or whatever before he could spill anything. And then they fled and left you. Maybe they thought you were dead. Wouldn't surprise me._

"What would Adrian be doing here in the middle of the night?" Was he talking? Or did his brain just translate meaningless gibberish into words?

 _Everybody knows what a great guy Adrian is. He has his tics and all, but he's such a caring man. Do you think the others didn't notice you were in pain? He was worried about you and came over to check. He underestimated his own condition, and then these vile criminals showed up._

Vincent didn't answer. It was a good plan, and intriguingly simple. The others would back him up. If the dark voice was right, even Detective Donovan wouldn't be able to deny Vincent's ill state. He wasn't sure himself how he had managed to get through the night. He only needed to wait (and survive) until the others showed up. His Jenna would know what to do.

"That shadow. That was Pete."

There was a short, but distinct pause. All of a sudden, maybe for the first time, the dark voice sounded cautious. _So?_

"He's... he's _trapped_ inside that thing. Golden Freddy. His... soul... or whatever. He's still in the suit. Alex... Ethan... I killed them. Ethan might be here as well."

The dark voice didn't react to the desperation that seemed to tear Vincent's soul apart. It never felt regret, or sympathy. _We'll tend to that once it comes around. For now just concentrate on -_

Without so much as an indication, merciful darkness swallowed Vincent's mind.


	11. Chapter 10

I literally didn't realize I was that far behind with my uploads. My apologies. This is the last chapter of part one, meaning next up will be the Missing Children Incident.

Have Fun!

* * *

Everything was bright.

 _\- surviving_ , the dark voice finished.

"Huh," Vincent mumbled. His throat felt like sandpaper, but his mind had cleared and regained control over his ability to speak.

"You've always been tenacious. That's a good trait."

Vincent snapped out of the haze dampening his thoughts. His eyes stung, but after a moment he realized somebody had at least turned off the ceiling lights and closed the thin curtains.

"What are you doing here?", he snapped. His rough voice only put an even sharper edge to his words. His visitor smiled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He looked less muscular than Vincent remembered him and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Oh wow. You nearly died, and the first thing you do is get pissed over a family visit. Typical."

"What family? You? Don't make a fool out of yourself. A few shared genes don't make us family."

He only received a fatherly shrug for an answer. Vincent had many things to say, too many to put them into words right now.

They both turned at a knock on the door. Jenna poked her head in through the crack.

"Oh, you're awake." She opened the door and stepped in. Her smile turned slightly confused while she took in the small hospital room and the people inside.

"Hey," Vincent croaked. Of course his Jenna was there, his savior. She wore a light blue summer dress and her shoulder-long hair fell on tanned shoulders. Even better than he had always imagined.

"Sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor. I can come back later."

"No, no." Vincent didn't even have the chance to speak. "Please, come in. My name is Victor de Briss." Victor closed the door behind her and offered his hand. Jenna smiled politely and shook it.

"Jenna McCormick."

"Very pleased to meet you." In a swift, practiced motion, he drew a card from the pocket of his suit and offered it to her. Jenna took it, although she still seemed a little baffled, and looked it over. "So... you're a lawyer?"

"Actually, it's business consultant." He faked a charming laugh. "You know what it's like with terminology these days."

Jenna read the card again and frowned. "California? You came all the way here?"

Victor adjusted his tie and pretended to look humble. "Well, he's my twin, after all. Family has to stick together."

Jenna smiled and put the card in her purse. "That's very true." She walked over to Vincent and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You never mentioned you had a brother."

"We had a few... issues in the past," Vincent explained. He was surprised he managed to keep his voice even, without any open hostility. How could he _dare_ to intervene like this? Victor had no place here, yet now he immediately laid his eyes on Jenna.

Jenna scrutinized him for a moment. "How are you feeling?"

The abrupt change of topic made him wonder if Scott had anything to do with this. He was just an incorrigible chatterbox. Where was he, anyway? Probably ran when he saw Victor coming.

"Much better... I think. What happened?"

"You tell me. We found you passed out on the floor... and... and Adrian is dead." She broke off and turned her head away abruptly. If only she knew what had really happened, what Adrian had done. Maybe then she wouldn't be so sad. Vincent placed a hand on her arm. Jenna tensed, as if she would either flee or fight, but then a tiny smile appeared on her features. She laid her hand on top of his.

"Sorry to bother you with that so soon. We can be glad you're alright."

"No it's... okay. I... I thought so. Doesn't take an expert to know when someone is dying..." He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed Jenna's touch on his skin. "Please tell me they got them."

Jenna shifted uncomfortably. "No. Not even close. We kinda figured out it must have been a burglary, but... the whole place looked so... strange. All these floodlights, and the chains in front of the doors, what was that all about? Was that you?"

"No, that was Adrian... I think. I might have... nodded off at some point."

Jenna shrugged. "Well, that's to be expected in your condition. It's a miracle you woke up at all." Vincent was fairly sure she hadn't planned to say the last sentence out loud. He pretended to not have heard it. "It was lucky Scott was there so early and knew what was wrong with you."

"Scotty is around?", Victor asked. It was impossible to tell if his surprise was genuine. His glee was for sure.

Jenna sat up, putting a little more distance between them again. "Oh, right, you got to know each other as well. He wanted to come over later. The police is still trying to piece together the incident at Freddy's... Guess that's the perks of living in a small town with few big crimes."

A few more pieces fell into place. "...how long was I out?" Vincent felt his body tense in dreadful anticipation. The news needed at least a day or two to get to Victor through whatever channels he used to keep taps on them. One should think the police would be done with taking statements by then.

"Today is day seven," Jenna said. She took his hand when she saw him go even paler than he already was. "Hey, it's alright. The important thing is, you're fine. You'll need just a day or two before you can go home and get back on your feet."

He nodded, as if he shared her optimism, and tried to smile. For her sake. Jenna squeezed his hand once more and stood up. "Now that you're back from the dead, I have to make some phone calls. The others are super-worried about you. So expect lots of exhausting socializing sessions." Her smiled faded within seconds. "The police will want a statement... about that incident. You're the only one who knows what happened, so..." Her voice trailed off.

Jenna stopped again at the door. "Um, was nice meeting you, Mr. de Briss."

"Oh, please, call me Victor." He put on his most disgusting false smile and indicated a curtsy. "It was a pleasure, milady."

Jenna laughed, and Vincent could have strangled his brother right there for making her that uncomfortable.

"Please tell Scott Victor came over for a visit," Vincent interrupted. "I'm sure he'll be... glad."

"Sure." Jenna hovered at the door, radiating worry and uncertainty.

Vincent cleared his throat to cut Victor off. "Is Ethan okay? They found him by now, I take it." He hated to see her freeze in mid-motion, some of her vigor and feminine strength dissipating in hopelessness.

Jenna's tanned hands tightened around the straps of her purse. "N-No. The police gave up yesterday. They assume he is dead. Maybe he got lost or... There was no ransom demand. It's not that the Jenssens are rich anyway. He's just... gone."

"...Oh. I'm... I'm sorry."

"Not the only one, mate, not the only one," she mumbled. "I'm gonna call the others now, 'kay?" She slipped out without waiting for an answer. They heard her footsteps vanish in the distance.

"Really sorry, for sure." Victor stretched and rose to his full height, an inch over Vincent's if he would stand, before walking over to the bed. His movements were fluid and almost predatory, as if he owned the bleak hospital room.

"You got yourself one hell of a chick there, little brother. Never had bad taste, I'll give you that much." Vincent wanted to stand up, but even that small movement made his head spin.

"Don't even think of it!"

Victor raised his eyebrows. "What in the world might you be talking about?"

The nausea vanished as fast as it had come, but Vincent didn't dare to stand up. His hands clenched around the thin blanket. "You keep your hands off Jenna or I swear to God, Victor, I will-"

Victor leaped forward like a striking cobra. His hand closed around his twin's throat and suddenly, Vincent couldn't breathe anymore. The pain was a joke compared to what he had lived through before, but his body still wanted to thrash wildly at the attacker.

"You'll do what?", Victor hissed. "Do you really think you could hurt me in any way, you ridiculous little fly?" Victor laughed. The normality of the sound made the situation even more cruel. "Really, bro, you think you can shoo me around? Please." He let go and turned around while Vincent gasped for breath. "Besides, is that your thanks for my care?"

His throat felt a little tight, but Vincent knew Victor could have hurt him far worse if he had intended to do so. "What the fuck are you talking about?", he croaked.

Victor spread his arms like Moses himself. "I'm making you an offer here, brother. Hospital bills are just insane these days, right?"

Vincent didn't even dignify this with a direct response. "Why are you here, Victor? Not because you're such a caring person."

His brother sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. Vincent would have loved to punch the son of a bitch right there. And Victor knew it. It delighted him to see his twin struggle for composure.

"You know, Amy loves family, especially because she has none herself."

"So you gotta show some loyalty to keep the money flowing," Vincent cut him off. "Where is your beloved, anyway? Aren't you getting tired of playing this game?"

Victor shook his head like a father at an angry child. "She's on vacation right now. Thought I'd spare her a sorry sight like you."

"How considerate." He put all the sarcasm he managed in his current state into these two words. Victor frowned, and Vincent hated the part of himself that recoiled in fear at this sight. It only lasted for a second, until that disgusting smile appeared on Victor's face again. "So, I hear Scotty is the security manager of that run-down pizza place now?"

"Sort of," Vincent answered without thinking. He wanted to shake himself, to get rid of these old pattern of behavior. He wasn't the same person anymore. "Let's cut this short. You stay away from him. And from Jenna."

"Or what?" Victor chuckled again, his dark eyes sparkling. "Oh, I'm so intimidated. Will you kill me? Like that old guy? Like the boy?"

Vincent froze. How did he know of Ethan? "I'm not you," he got out.

"Of course you're not." Victor made a show of leaning back a little, even in this heat in a spotless and no doubt expensive gray suit. "You're just a weak, pathetic coward with illusions of protecting someone equally worthless. And we both know of your... tendencies."

"There is exactly one sadistic asshole in this room and it's not me for sure," Vincent spat.

Victor laughed out loud, as if he had just heard a great joke. "Oh really? Did Scott finally tell you? I bet he was crying, just like back then. That was fun to watch."

Vincent's fingers clenched around the blanket again, so hard he could feel his nails digging into his palm, just to keep him from starting a fight he could not win. Yet. His voice was dangerously quiet.

"Stay away from us, Victor. I don't give a fuck what you do with your life as long as it doesn't concern any of my friends or me. You do your stuff, I do mine, everybody's happy." He had to force himself to speak these last words. He could see Angie, her smile, her bloodied wrists, her tears. The summer had been hot back then, and when Scott began acting weird, too. It had always been summer.

"You really think it is that easy?", Victor purred. His laugh was quiet, and this time, even an oblivious bystander would have felt a chill running down their back. "This is not a bargain, little brother. I can do whatever I please, and if I choose to destroy you or any of your precious friends, I will. What do you want to do about it? Accuse me of making your sweet girlfriend kill herself? Assaulting your buddy? Based on which proof? Not that he'd dare to step up to me."

Vincent searched for words, and was unable to speak them aloud. The rage burning in his veins threw them into chaos, silencing him, more than Victor's threats ever could.

"But, for the sake of family, I won't. For now. Instead, I'm offering you help. Maybe I'll even introduce Amy to you... after you look less like the helpless rat you are, that is. Greetings from Mum and Dad, by the way. They're not surprised you never called."

The rational part of him, the cool, calculating engineer was the only thing that was still functioning more or less normally, and Vincent was glad to let him take over. It was better than screaming in mindless outrage. "And what do you want in return?"

"Well, for one thing, Amy will be happy. And-"

Vincent didn't let him finish. "You want a stand in my life. You want me to be in debt, even if it's not legal, and to torment my friends again, just for your personal delight. Well, nice try. Fuck off, _brother._ I don't need your help."

Victor blinked. It was good to see him surprised. The malicious anger creeping into his eyes was less pleasant to watch. "I'd be careful who you reject, Vincent." He leaned forward. His voice was so low it was barely more than the dark voice's whispers in the darkest nights. "As I said, this is not a bargain. There is still the matter of two dead and a missing boy, all while you were present."

"That doesn't mean anything." Vincent felt like Victor could read all the lies he was desperately trying to convince himself of, but the rational part of him knew that was ridiculous. Still, he straightened up a bit more, until they were only inches apart. "You shouldn't make assumptions based on yourself."

Victor snorted and leaned back again, pretending to take the defeat. "There is simply no reasoning with you, it seems. We'll see how this turns out. Don't come crawling back to me."

"Oh, don't worry. That will never happen."

Victor gave him a stiff nod and staked out of the room, barely holding on to his composure. It was less satisfactory than Vincent had hoped. He had won – for now. Finally, he had stood up to his brother, like he had always wished he could. But... what price would he pay for this victory?

Staring at the curtains didn't help pass the time. After Victor had stormed out, Vincent was left to worry, about himself, about his friends, and his life. He had pretended to be sure of things, of his stand in the ongoing investigation, but how true was that? Yes, Ethan was gone for good, Pete had been an accident, and even Donovan would confirm Vincent had been in no condition to harm Adrian in any way. At least that was true.

Somehow he had the feeling when it got around he was awake again, Donovan would show up rather sooner than later. What about the security tapes? What did they show? If he could see the animatronics attacking him... maybe he would finally believe he was not going insane.

Eventually, he was relieved of his brooding by a knock on the door. He closed his eyes, hoped it was Jenna, and called: "Come in."

It was Jenna, only now she wasn't alone. Scott followed, casting nervous glances around, as if he was expecting a predator to jump at him. Vincent was surprised Jenna had gotten him to come over at all, knowing Victor might still be here. Danny followed close behind, and then William.

"Hey guys," Vincent greeted them. It was strange to have so many people visit him, people that actually seemed to care. It was a... funny feeling. He wouldn't have been able to say why, but he felt much better. Who cared about Victor? He was just a bully, always had been. Just a relic from a distant past.

"Hey!" Danny and William immediately offered him a mixture of handshake and high-five, which Vincent completely failed at. It caused a surge of laughter, but he couldn't miss how tired they all looked. Attempt number two sort of worked and he noticed Danny wasn't wearing a sling anymore.

"You're better?", Vincent asked.

"Sure. Was just as scratch after all." He pushed down the light bandage to show the stitches, slowly turning into a pale scar. "Much more important, how are you?"

"What do I look like?"

They fell silent, and for a few seconds, everyone just exchanged uncomfortable glances. Vincent shrugged. "I'm not dead. That's something, I heard."

"Yeah..." William trailed off, unsure what to say.

"What in the world happened that night?" Scott's voice was quiet. He was standing far behind the others, leaning against the wall. If somebody else had been speaking that moment, nobody would have heard him. Scott looked worse than Vincent had seen him in years. There were dark circles under his eyes, he was unshaven and seemed to have lost at least five pounds.

Vincent rubbed at the bridge of his nose and looked around. Tired faces, hopeless after searching for Ethan day by day without a result, all expecting an answer.

"I.. I'm not sure. It's all blurry."

"It would be wonderful if you would start at the beginning, so to say."

Vincent flinched, but it was drowned out by everyone turning to the door. Detective Donovan stepped in and held up his police badge, as if the others didn't know who he was.

"It's good to see you have recovered, Mr. de Briss. If it's not too much for you, I'd like you to make a formal statement about the events in that night." He looked around the room. The others looked at each other, unsure what to do.

"Do you prefer staying or shall we go to a more quiet place?"

"I-"

"He's not up to walking around yet," Scott interrupted. Donovan turned to face him, and Scott recoiled against the wall like a cornered animal. He crossed his arms in something that should resemble steadiness.

"I see," Donovan said mildly. "It's just that we need your testimony as soon as possible." he looked Vincent dead in the eyes. The old cop seemed friendly enough, but Vincent didn't like the cold steel under his fatherly demeanor. Donovan wasn't as soft as he appeared to be. "The investigation has almost come to a halt, I'm afraid. You're the only eye witness, so you're account is vital."

Vincent had to clear his throat. Victor would pay for this. He would pay for everything. "of course, Detective."

Donovan nodded and turned to the others. They were all staring at nothing in particular, displaying a variety of insecurity. "So would you please leave us alone while-"

"That's not necessary. They have a right to know what happened," Vincent interrupted. Donovan tensed, and just for a second, annoyance crossed his features. Then he gave a stern nod.

"As you wish."

"You sure you're up for that?" Scott pretended not to notice Donovan's glare and rubbed his arm. Vincent nodded and tried to smile. "I'm fine. Thanks."

 _He should better watch his mouth._

Vincent didn't physically show a reaction, but something inside him cringed and died out of sheer horror. It felt like a tiny young animal dying after being zapped by a tazer. Maybe it was just hope itself. Had he really believed Victor would take the dark voice with him when he left? That would have been far too easy.

"Something the matter?" Vincent was brutally dragged back into reality and met Donovan's relentless pale eyes. Had Adrian looked like that? No, his gaze had been different. If Adrian had been a falcon, Donovan was something bigger, slower, but just as deadly. Something had significantly changed in the week he had missed. And it was not for the better.

"Nothing you wouldn't expect," Vincent joked. He would like to have a shower now, he realized. His hair felt awful and hung in his face in greasy strands. "Can we get this over with, please?"

Donovan nodded. His eyes wandered to the windowsill, where Scott sat down now, pretending not to pay close attention.

 _Well-meaning fools are always the worst._

"Please start at the beginning."

"What beginning? Before or after you got the security tapes?"

"What security tapes?" In any other situation it would have been funny to have three people talk in unison on accident. Danny, William and Jenna didn't even notice. They didn't give Donovan the chance to say anything. No, instead they stared at Scott, who seemed to shrink under their glares.

"What security tapes?" Jenna repeated. "Since when did the cameras save any recordings?"

Donovan raised his hands in an attempt to alleviate the situation. "Ms. McCormick, please."

Scott crossed his arms and stared at the floor for a second. "I couldn't tell you. It was in my contract. Sorry, guys."

Tense silence fell and lasted for several seconds. Then Danny sighed and pushed a messy strand out of his eyes. "I'm amazed you managed to keep that secret."

Scott blushed. "W-What?"

William attempted a smile and waved it off. "Think what you want, old chatterbox."

 _What are they attempting with this little cabaret?_

"Excuse me. Would you kindly wait outside?", Donovan interrupted. "Or we will never get anywhere."

"Detective-" Scott broke off with a look of shock on his face. Vincent hadn't been aware he had been glaring at him. Scott shouldn't put himself in the foreground like that. He was just putting the wrong idea into the Detective's head.

 _Donovan wants you alone so he can check up on your story with others. If you tell everyone at once, there are no inconsistencies for him to pick up when he interrogates your 'friends'._ The voice almost sneered at the last word.

"There's very little to tell after you left," Vincent interrupted. He would go crazy if he had to listen to the dark voice any longer. It laughed at him, a hollow, thoroughly evil sound.

 _You really think you're not already insane? Dream on, Vinny._

Donovan didn't look pleased, but none of the others moved an inch. The detective took the only chair in the room and placed his notepad on his knees, pen ready to note down Vincent's testimony.

 _Please tell me you have even a hint of a clue what to say._

"My memories are really blurry. I sat in the office... checked on the cameras from time to time... And at some point, Adrian was there."

"Just... there?", Donovan inquired.

Vincent rubbed his neck. His back felt a lot better, but now his shoulders were stiff, the muscles tensed up after lying for so long. "I... I didn't hear him come in or anything. I must have fallen asleep."

Donovan gave him a nod, as if he wasn't surprised. His scratching pen paused for a moment. "Ms McCormick, you are a future doctor, I remember? I don't know much about blood poisoning, but should someone who falls asleep not... well, die?"

Jenna hesitated. "That... depends. On how bad it is at that point. If the blood pressure doesn't drop too much, no." She looked at Vincent, but her beautiful blue eyes were distant. He hated to see her that distressed. "You were really lucky."

Donovan nodded again and noted something down. "I see. Thank you. Please go on." He turned back to Vincent.

"Well... Adrian must have woken me..."

"He did not say anything about it? You're a security guard after all."

"No... he didn't. I asked why he was here in the first place, and he said he was worried about me. And then he asked me to come to the Show Room. He had put up all these flood lights."

"Did he say why?"

Vincent hesitated. "N-No." A quiet, stealthy wave of panic crept up on him out of nowhere. What was he doing here? He would never be able to hide the truth from this seasoned detective. Even Adrian had managed to get on his trail, and that had been for a crime eight years ago.

"And then? What happened after?"

His stomach twinged. Surely he wouldn't throw up in front of everyone. Not that there was anything to cough up, excluding metaphors. "I... I don't know. We heard something and then somebody hit me..." He rubbed his face, remembering how Adrian had slammed him against the wall. The old man had been terminally ill and yet he had pushed him around like a doll.

 _More like a Puppet._

"Adrian fell, I think. He was gasping for breath... It was horrible." He shuddered, remembering the cold accusing eyes of the shadow. He wanted nothing more than to apologize. To Alex, to Ethan, and mostly to Pete. The kids, that had been the dark voice. But Pete was different. He should have been able to save him. The boy had died because Vincent had failed him.

"I passed out after that, I think."

"What about the burglars?"

Vincent stared at him blankly for several seconds until he remembered. Burglars. The cover story. He had even talked to Jenna and Victor about it barely half an hour ago. Crap.

"Uh." Maybe he should just shut up entirely before he screed anything else up. On TV, now was the time people always said "I want to talk to my lawyer". There was no better way of admitting your guilt. Not that he had the money for a lawyer.

 _Pull yourself together. The story is so simple even you should manage that._

"Vincent, are you okay?", William asked. Donovan suppressed an annoyed shrug. He didn't bother to turn around.

"Maybe I shall help memory a little." Donovan flipped a page in his ledger as if searching for something. "Mr de Briss, there were thin slash marks all over your torso, neck and face when you were found. A knife matching the cuts was found next to Mr. Laroche's corpse. Your name is on the weapon's handle. We found only your and his fingerprints." He held out a photograph. Vincent's name was easy to spot on the worn-down handle. The point of the blade was spotted with red, but otherwise, it was shockingly clean. Strange. He would have thought he had bled more.

Vincent nodded slowly. "That's my knife. I must have dropped it when they jumped us."

"They? So it was more than one?"

Vincent rubbed his face. For the first time, he noticed the thin crusts, and the way something that wasn't the nightgown stretched over his chest. Even his throat seemed to be bandaged. Of course, Adrian had cut him. Often. He licked his lips, tasting long-dried blood and wishing for a glass of water.

"I.. think so. It was so bright, I couldn't see much."

"Oh, really?" Donovan paused and a brief smile crossed his weathered face. "Funny, usually we get to hear the opposite. Officer, it was too dark, I couldn't see anything."

Vincent caught Jenna's worried glance. But what was he to do? Donovan would find out eventually, and it wasn't that his... disability incriminated him in any way. On the contrary, it created perfectly valid excuses.

"My eyes don't work that well in bright lights," he admitted. William and Danny exchanged a confused glance, and then searched for confirmation with Jenna and Scott. Funny, he would have thought gossip like that went around fast. On second thought, he really had never mentioned it, and the light had been bearable in the evenings.

Donovan shot Jenna a glance, and she nodded. "It... could be a result of..." She hesitated. "We haven't done any tests yet. But albinos often suffer from sight impairment."

"I see," Donovan said mildly. "You said they jumped you. Would you please clarify what happened once more? Mr. Laroche called you into the Show Room, is that correct?"

"Y-Yes."

"Did you see him close the doors to the Main Hall?"

"Uh... I don't know. W-Why?"

"They were locked when we arrived in the morning. And we also found a set of keys near the stage, while Mr. Laroche had another one on his person. Mr. Goldwyn testified that there are only these two sets. If you didn't close the doors and Mr. Laroche didn't, who else could have?"

 _Somebody did his homework. He knows the whole building inside out._

"I don't know. Maybe he did. I was at the stage and then... I don't know..." He could feel everyone staring at him. What was he supposed to say?  
"There are blood drops all the way from the doors to the Main Hall to those leading into the entrance hall, and most near the Prize Corner. They match your blood type. That is a long way to go, especially in your condition."

"I guess," Vincent mumbled. "Detective, I really have no idea what happened in between. Somebody hit me, and maybe I walked a few steps, I can't tell."

 _He's good. He's working the audience you wanted so badly. Slip up on anything and there will be hell to pay._

"Let's try something different," Donovan proposed. "We assume there were burglars, at least two of them. How did they get in?"

"The back door was open," Scott said before anyone else could. "That's how I got in. Adrian must have left it unlocked."

Donovan looked at Scott for several seconds before nodding slowly. Vincent didn't like the look in his eyes. He couldn't tell what it meant, but it set him on edge.

"You didn't notice Mr. Laroche coming in, you said. And you weren't in the kitchen that night, correct?"

Vincent only gave a brief nod. God, he was tired. The cuts he had almost forgotten about stung his skin as the painkillers began to wear off. He couldn't go through this for much longer without spilling anything on accident.

"Very well. Let's assume the burglars came in through the unlocked door. They jumped you. Why would they cut you? I hate to say it, it sounds so barbaric, but these injuries look like torture." Nobody stirred. Donovan cocked his head and waited.

"They wanted to know where the money is," Vincent said. "I didn't know, I'm just a night guard. So they wanted to get it out of Adrian."

"There were no marks on Mr. Laroche's body, not even the supposed "hit on the head". What do you make of that?"

Scott squirmed, but he knew he couldn't say anything.

"I thought that was your job," Vincent croaked. His voice was going, and fast. Thank God. Finally, finally somebody, he didn't even check who, handed him a glass of water. Lukewarm as it was, it could as well have been ambrosia.

Donovan laughed. "Very true. Thank you for your help." He stood up and closed his ledger. The sudden end of the interrogation left Vincent stunned for a moment.

"Wait." He broke into a cough that sent a bolt of pure white fire through his ribs. Small breaths, calm down, you made it, he told himself.

"What about the security tapes you took? Is there something on them?"

Donovan shrugged. "Unfortunately, they were erased. There was just the day of the burglary on them." He could be lying, but Vincent knew he was not. The wave of relief he had expected didn't come.

 _That was Adrian_ , the dark voice said, equally surprised and satisfied. _The old bastard actually saved us._ It let out a low chuckle and Vincent felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up at the sound.

"I see. Thank you, Detective."

"Oh, something else. We need your permission to check your car. It's just part of the investigative routine," the elderly detective added. He had to be sick of being asked if the person he interviewed was a suspect. Vincent didn't ask. He wasn't sure if he could talk at all. Was his car still in the back lot? There was the dirt from the cemetery, the clothes he had worn. Nothing as distinct as blood, maybe, but it could lead them straight to Ethan's grave.

"Of course," the dark voice replied. It sounded perfectly relaxed, and there was no trace that it wasn't Vincent who spoke. "Where is it, anyway? Still at Freddy's?"

"Not as far as I know. We handed the keys to Mr. Goldwyn."

"I brought it back to the flat. Hope that's okay."

Vincent gave him a vague smile. "Thanks." Freddy's or their apartment, evidence was evidence. Unless... Scott couldn't possibly have... The way he was squirming under Donovan's gaze screamed "I'm hiding something!". Scott was not the moron people thought him to be too often.

 _Such a good doggie. If only he wasn't that spineless.._

"Thank you for your time and patience. All of you." Donovan touched the brim of an invisible hat in salute and marched out. He didn't even seem to be sweating in this heat.

The room was silent for several minutes. Once Donovan was out, Scott visibly relaxed, even though he still looked like dead on its feet.

"Well, that was weird," Danny said eventually. He rubbed his arm and grimaced as his body reminded him scratching a healing gash was not a good idea. "Does he think you're a suspect, or what?"

Vincent shrugged his shoulders, but Scott's voice was sharp. "That's ridiculous." He sank back against the window frame when he met their confused glances. "I'm sorry guys. I'm a bit on edge."

"Who isn't?", Jenna mumbled. She sat down on the bed again and took Vincent's hand. Hers were pleasantly cool on his sweaty skin. A cold shower would be wonderful right now.

"I hate to play devil's advocate here, but I think I know what Donovan sees," William said. He leaned against the wall and ruffled his already chaotic reddish hair as he tried to put his deductions in a way that hopefully didn't offend anyone. The intention was written all over his face.

"Out with it already," Jenna demanded. Vincent felt her wince at her own words. When had he found so many loyal friends? He'd always been a loner, and an outcast, even though it had not been his choice. People were so quick to judge.

 _Yeah, paint yourself the saint you'd like to be._

Jenna squeezed his hand. She must have felt him freeze at the dark voice's words. Charades and masks. Like it had always been.

"Pete died in the spring suit. Ethan vanished the same night. There's a supposed burglary at Freddy's and Adrian dies. It's obvious Vincent was present at two of these occasions." he raised his hands, already expecting the glares that followed. "I'm not saying I believe that. Just following the chain of logic." He paused and stared at the white strip of sunlight the blinds allowed to fall on the floor. "Vincent is the only connection. They will also find it weird, that all of this happened since you started last week. Now, logically, there's no proof. Pete died in an accident, and Adrian had a heart attack. There will be medical proof for that."

Another strange thought struck Vincent, and he was surprised he had forgotten all about it. "What about Pete's funeral?"

Jenna gave him a strained look. "That was two days ago. They... weren't too happy to see us."

"Freddy's has an even worse reputation now than before. People say it's cursed." Danny stared at the ceiling for a moment.

"You don't believe in ghosts, do you?", Scott joked. The quiver in his voice took the humor out of it. Danny shrugged, but didn't reply. A week ago, no, two weeks ago, Vincent would have laughed. He didn't feel like laughing now. In fact, he felt like sleeping.

"And Ethan is just... gone?", Vincent picked up the thread of conversation. He hated to do this, but anyone would ask these questions after a week of... being gone.

"Nobody has seen him, or noticed him sneak out. He didn't take anything from his room save for the clothes he was wearing that day, he didn't tell anyone. Molly said she remembers him being especially jumpy the evening before, but that's it." Jenna shuddered and turned her head away. Danny made a step forward, but Vincent was closer and therefore quicker. He laid his arms around her. Jenna gave a breathless little sound, half laugh and half sob, and hugged him back.

"Sorry. It's just... been a long week. I liked that little boy. And Pete, and... and Adrian too." She rested her head on his shoulder, and that's how she stayed for a long time. Vincent ignored the others, Danny and William shooting meaningful glances and smiles, and Scott turning his head away, as if he was about to cry as well.

Eventually, Jenna sat up again and wiped her eyes. He hated to let go, but she didn't leave him any choice. She wasn't wearing any make up, he noticed. Not that she would need it. "Thanks."

"Fair and square after last... week." One week of his life. Gone. He had missed episodes before. But never a whole week.

Jenna smiled. Though shaky, it was a genuine smile. That was much better.

"We're all pretty done for," William said. He frowned down at the strip of light. It had wandered a considerable distance during their conversation. "I wonder..."

"What?"

William jumped at the question. "Huh? Oh, just my brain running wild again. I read too many crime novels. It's nothing."

"If you say so." Danny didn't bother to hide he was not convinced. "So... What do we do now?"

"I tell you what we do. We let Vincent sleep." Jenna stood up, and his hands suddenly grasped at empty air. He hated the sudden lack of... of anything, really.

"Now listen to mommy, it's bed time." Her smile was faded and tired, but her blue eyes were sparkling with irony. She flicked a strand of hair out of his face. "We'll come by tomorrow. Not all at once, maybe."

"Thanks guys. For sticking with me and all." If that was to be the last thing he said to them, it was a pretty lame way of thanking the people that had stood with him, even though he didn't deserve it.

"Always. Freddy's is a family restaurant, after all," Danny said with a grin. William blinked at him in confusion. Jenna rolled her eyes and shoved her brother out of the room.

"See you tomorrow." Once they were outside, their steps began to fade. The last thing Vincent could hear was William starting to laugh far too late, when he finally got the pun. It made him smile a little. So many people, so different, and still... They'd never accept him.

"Want to tell me something?"

Scott jumped off the windowsill, and not in a metaphorical way. There were pale red spots on his unnaturally white cheeks. For a second, he looked around as if something would jump at him soon. His movements were jittery when he wiped his face with a handkerchief. For a few seconds, he looked around, as if uncertain what to do. Then he sat down on the bed near Vincent's feet. Finally, Vincent realized what word he had been looking for all along to describe his friend. Defeated. He had seen his friend like this, but only one or two times. This chubby little guy was tougher than he looked. But even that will had limits that could not be exceeded.

Scott was at the end of his strength, both mentally and physically. In a low, monotone voice, he described the scene at Freddy's he had walked in on, how they had continued searching for Ethan day by day while he visited Vincent whenever he could. Freddy's was officially closed down for renovations now after the police had left. Nobody knew who would take Adrian's place, if not Scott himself.

There was a long silence. Vincent didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything at all. He didn't even dare to reach out and comfort his friend.

"Somebody messed with the inside of Puppet's box," Scott said out of the blue. "I assume that was you."

 _What a clever little shit_ , the dark voice growled. _I told you he's dangerous._

Scott buried his face in his hands. He wasn't crying. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't. "God, Vincent, why Ethan? Why him of all people?"

"He was in the wrong place at the wrong time." Vincent froze. The dark voice was talking again. That was the second time in the matter of, what, an hour? He had to end this, before more people got hurt. But how?

"I'm sorry." Vincent's voice was calm and factual. That was wrong, everything about this was wrong. He was sorry, with all his being, but he couldn't conjure up the emotion, or even pretend. He felt cold inside. He might have survived, but he had also died.

"I damn hope you are." Scott wiped his eyes and sat up. There was no fear in his gaze, just a vague glare, and what Vincent prayed was not revulsion.

 _He'll get over it. Don't worry._

"I cleaned up the car and put the clothes back where they belong." Scott's voice was rough and as cold as Vincent felt. He was just naming facts. That was one thing he was very good at.

"I'll go now. Tell me what really happened when you're home." It wasn't a question.

"Scott."

"See ya." Scott rounded the bed and had his hand already on the door knob, when it turned by itself.

"Oh, well if that isn't a pleasant surprise. I hoped I'd catch you." Victor smiled brightly.

The impact on Scott would have been a priceless sight, if not that terrible. His eyes widened, and he immediately dropped the handle. Step by step, Victor drove him back just by walking in, until Scott's legs touched the edge of the bed and he was forced to sit down by his own momentum.

Victor quietly closed the door behind his back and stopped in the middle of the room. His smile hadn't changed the whole time.

"V-Victor," Scott stuttered. His hands clenched into the thin blanket, searching for any kind of support, something to hold on to.

Vincent's head spun when he sat up, but he did it anyway. "What do you want?"

Victor shrugged, his brows furrowing. "I wanted to check by. You've always been terribly impulsive, after all. It's a mistake to deny such a kind offer. And I hoped to say hello to our old friend, of course." Victor stepped forward and laid a hand on Scott's shoulder.

While he had been exhausted and pallid, Scott now seemed to shrink several inches. He stopped moving altogether, staring at a meaningless point at the height of Victor's thighs. Anything more, and he would curl up in a ball and start to whimper like a terrified animal.

Vincent slapped Victor's hand away with as much force as he could muster. "Leave him alone!"

Victor raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure he's old enough to speak for himself."

"Scott, get yourself some sleep. Please." Vincent looked his twin brother directly in the eyes. He felt Scott moving, first hesitating, then he slipped out of Victor's reach and fled the room.

Victor shrugged and crossed his arms. "He'll never grow up."

"I know who's responsible for that." The answer was not as sharp as Vincent would have liked it to be. God, he was close to falling asleep, even with his brother here to cause havoc. He had to give Scott enough time to get home and lock the door three times.

"Pity. I looked forward to having a chat. Good old Scott, always entertaining."

Vincent had too many things to say, so he just glared at his brother. Victor grinned, finally dropping the pleasant mask. "I'll say it again. It's a good deal, for both of us. Amy won't have me poking around in your life too much."

"How long do you figure?"

Victor unlocked his gaze from the curtains he had been pretending to examine. "Pardon?"

"How much longer do you think you'll have to play this? She's not the youngest anymore. Or more accurately, how long does it take until she writes you into her testament as the lone heir?"

For a moment, anger flickered over Victor's face, but then he smiled. It was an ugly sight, full of contempt and arrogance and guiltless glee.

"Not so much longer. She's got no family, so who else could it all go to? I do take this relationship very seriously, after all. I always do."

"Which number is she?"

"Three," Victor declared with genuine cheer that made the statement even more disturbing. "And I can tell you, because you're just a nobody. You have no power over me."

"I know. Otherwise, you'd be dead already."

Victor laughed as if it had been a good joke. "Fair enough, little brother. Fair enough. I have to catch my flight, so here's your last chance: My help against your loyalty."

"Go fuck yourself."

Victor closed his eyes. It was a familiar expression. He was trying hard not to lose control. His public image couldn't be damaged in any way, even out here. "Fine. I warned you."

"Stay away from them. From anyone."

Victor gave him an unpleasant smile. "I will. For now. Farewell, little brother."

Vincent stared at the closed door for what might have been a minute or an hour. Had he just doomed his friends with his stubbornness?

Seeing Scott react like this had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. It had been eight _years_ , for God's sake! Scott was a grown man now, and one of the most persistent, brave people Vincent ever met. All of that had crumbled away in less than a second.

 _Our doggie is lucky to have such a caring master. He was so angry, and yet he fled back into your protection the moment something went wrong._ The dark voice gave another bone-chilling giggle.

Vincent shut it out. He couldn't bear listening to that right now. Finally, he could fall back into his pillow. He hadn't expected his spinning mind to allow him any sleep, but like so often he was mistaken.

Things got better. After two more days, he could finally leave the hospital. Sleeping in his own bed seemed to have the desired effect. Scott began to look a little better each day, even though he didn't eat as much as Vincent thought of as healthy. Vincent told him everything, from Ethan's death and burial to Adrian's attack. He just didn't know what else he could do. Scott took it all with a stoic expression and they never talked about it again.

Jenna had organized an appointment with her professor. She had arranged the tests they would do, nothing spectacular or dangerous, but they paid for a majority of the hospital bill. Vincent didn't want to know how she had managed that.

Similar, he wasn't sure how Scott managed to keep them on the payroll, even as Freddy's remained closed.

Donovan didn't show up again. The week passed. Then another one. The Weather became more humid instead of cooler. Things settled down, and Vincent almost saw the first light at the end of the tunnel.

Then Scott was arrested and Molly tried to kill herself.


	12. Chapter 11

Vincent flipped another page, but his mind was absent and didn't process any of the words. He stared at the sentences, sighed and closed the book. He hadn't been reading this much since grade school. Not that he had anything better to do. All he needed was to keep his mind of what would happen in a few hours.

Two weeks ago he attended the first in a series of slightly awkward examinations. Jenna wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of the mystery that was his "state". When she was working she seemed so happy, almost delirious, her mind fully occupied by whatever she was doing. Vincent was an engineer, and thought his common knowledge to be at least average, but when Jenna and her professor talked – a middle-aged man that reminded Vincent of a dog with hanging cheeks and sad eyes – he didn't understand a word. As much as he liked to see her so happy, he knew he was little more than an interesting case to her in these moments, something to be studied.

So, he asked her out on a date.

Not that he made it sound like a date. He was too much a coward for that. No, he asked her if she wanted to go eat something after they were done, or whenever she could spare the time. He had done that before, asked her out for breakfast, just before everything went to hell. The plan was still burning bright in the back of his mind, but Jenna had forgotten all about it by now.

Not that it mattered. He was going on a date with her, today, this evening, just at seven pm. They would meet up at Freddy's, and then search out the diner Jenna had mentioned what felt like ages ago.

He stood up and stretched. His spine cracked audibly, but the feeling was relieving rather than painful. The only reminder of his injuries was a long scar on his back, and the occasional twinge when he moved after being motionless for too long. He shot a glance at the clock ticking steadily along. Almost six. Another cold shower would probably be best in this weather. It would be the third today, but at least it would occupy him long enough so he didn't feel like he was being ridiculous when he started dressing. He had carefully picked something not too formal, but also not scruffy.

Vincent crossed the living room and grabbed a towel. The next moment, he hit the wall, hands raised in an automatic gesture of protection. Something crashed down on the carpet. It took him a few seconds to straighten up. He had tripped over the telephone cable.

"Great," he mumbled. "Just great." Sighing, he picked the whole mess up and stashed it on top of the sideboard. He didn't have the time to fix this now. Nobody called them anyway, ever.

He picked up the towel he had dropped and went into the bathroom. The door stayed open to keep the air in what hopefully counted as a flow. Scott wasn't home. Donovan had asked him to testify once more in the pile of cases people had started to call "the Freddy Fazbear incidents".

The tabloids, mostly the same issues that had made their money off the suffering of Aleksandra's parents, had been swarming over the cases for weeks, and didn't seem to stop. When things calmed down, there was always someone digging up new "leads" that vanished as soon as somebody followed them more than half a step. They succeeded, at least in their own interest. People kept talking.

Vincent tried to ignore the headlines. He hardly went out anymore at all. The week he had spent in the hospital had effectively cured any kind of jet lag he might have had from the constant night shifts, and he hated how the sun was still burning down on them, even as September slowly came to an end.

His or Scott's name or picture never appeared, or at least Vincent was convinced somebody would have told him if it happened. He had tried to forget about this. He had done something horrible, but tearing himself up over it helped no one, if he couldn't do anything about it. So he lived with his guilt and tried to move on as best as he could. Donovan had not contacted them in a long time, and eventually, Vincent thought the police had given up. Scott had been meticulous as always, cleaning up what Vincent hadn't managed.

Some part of Vincent hated himself for dragging his friend into this. It was the same part that had been screaming at him when he confessed everything to Scott, and that resented him for being such a coward.

He wasn't a bad person, dammit! He wasn't evil. Just... unlucky.

Vincent shrugged. He had been staring into the bathroom mirror for far to long. Time to get ready for his date. He rubbed his chin. Jenna had said the beard suited him better, so he kept it neatly trimmed. This was the umpteenth time he'd checked today, and nothing had changed.

He had to laugh about himself. When had he been that excited before a date the last time? Never. That had been a different Vincent, in a different lifetime.

He was just about to take off his shirt, when somebody knocked on the door.

"Vincent, are you home? I'm really sorry, but it's important." Usually, Vincent would have been annoyed. As much as he liked Pamela, and was grateful for her support, he was just too jumpy right now to endure her gossip.

But something gnawed at him, and it was not just how untypically worried the old lady sounded. He rebuttoned his shirt and jogged through kitchen and hallway to open the door.

Pamela was wearing the same clothes as always, this time in a light blue color scheme. Her face was pale and she was shaking.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, there's a call for you on my phone."

"Huh?" Vincent blinked at her. Right, he had tripped over the wire. Such things just had to happen right on time to make things complicated. "Who is it?"

Pamela drew a sharp breath. "Scott." She grabbed his hand and dragged him along, without waiting for more questions.

Pamela's flat was no bigger than the one Scott and Vincent shared. The furniture was sparse, but well-preserved and bore an aura of almost royalty. It must have been expensive once, maybe still was. Vincent didn't have time to admire his landlady's sense of style for long, because she stopped abruptly in front of a small table with an ancient-looking black phone. The speaker wasn't hung up properly, and Vincent could make out faint noises from the line.

Pamela gave a sharp nod at the phone. Confused, and with a growing weariness, Vincent picked up the speaker. "Hello?"

"Hey Vince." He almost jumped. It was hard to make out the words at all, and Scott's voice was so rough it almost jumped into falsetto at times. He was audibly shaking and sounded like he had been crying not long ago.

"They're gonna keep me here for a while. Just thought you should know."

"What do you mean?" He stared at the wall in lack of anything else. Keep Scott there? "Wait, do you mean the _arrested_ you? On which grounds?"

Scott managed a shaky laugh and sniffed. There was a crumbling sound in the line as he moved, maybe to wipe his face. "Oh, Detective Donovan said it's just for a day or two. To recount everything. Again."

"How long have they been questioning you?"

"Does it matter? I keep telling the same tale, over and over. Not much else I can do." Vincent hoped he was just imagining the hint of a growl in his friend's voice. He should be sitting there. Scott had not been involved in this in the first place. He was just unlucky enough to be Vincent's friend, and now he paid for it.

Pamela stared at him with an anxious frown, a million worried questions in her face. Vincent gave her a strained smile. "It's alright," he mouthed, before turning away again. Pamela shouldn't see whatever emotions were playing in his features. He was just too easy to read sometimes. "Why you? Whatever crazy idea Donovan has, he'll see it's complete-"

"They think I killed Ethan."

Vincent stared at the phone. It took him what felt like ages to even whisper. "What?"

Scott sniffed again, and his voice went back to the impersonal, flat tone he used when he needed to pretend he didn't care. "It's like on TV, they just start telling you what they think happened, like it's some damned crime show. There's even a good cop and a bad cop. Donovan's the good one." He paused. Vincent didn't dare to interrupt.

"I'll just repeat what they said, okay?" There was a long silence.

"Go ahead," Vincent said.

The silence dragged on for a few more seconds. "Adrian and I were in on this together. Freddy's was always full, but truth is, the company is living on borrowed money. The break-in was staged to get insurance money. Ethan ran away from home the evening before, for God knows what reason. He got scared, so he came to Freddy's, because he knows the place. He ran into us, meaning Adrian and me. So we had to shut him up."

"That's completely ridiculous!", Vincent snapped.

"Yeah, isn't it?"

His stomach twinged. Scott knew exactly what had happened, but in the end, he was just a bystander. He was sticking to a story he had constructed, maybe in the hope of believing it himself one day. For the sake of their friendship. But who knew how long that would hold?

"Why you of all people? Any of us would be suspicious. I... I was there in the nights, and I've been working at Freddy's only for a week."

"You were there to take the fall."

Vincent shut up before he could even utter his protest. This was little more than a pointless charade. If this turned out to be a real issue, he would have to disprove them. And if that meant turning himself in, it was his duty to do that.

 _Tell yourself that._

Vincent's hand clenched around the speaker. He wouldn't listen to that. "What do you mean?", he asked Scott.

"In their line of reason, I brought you to Freddy's with the explicit purpose to create a scapegoat, should it be necessary. That you were involved in the incident with Pete was... lucky for us. From what I gathered, somebody heard Adrian tell Pete he ought to impress Molly, so that's why he went to put on the suit in the first place." Scott paused again to draw a breath that was not yet a sob. "They've been questioning her too. They think Molly was with Pete and you didn't say to protect her." He uttered a small, hopeless laugh. "We're quite the family at Freddy's, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Vincent mumbled.

"I treated the gash you received at home, right? I was careless. Or in their eyes, this was my plan all along. Dead men tell no tales, right? That you survived, despite what Adrian did to you was... unforeseen. Maybe you didn't recognize us, or have you own reasons. Stupid loyalty, for example." He laughed again, just a short, desperate huff. "Adrian died from a heart attack, that's indisputable. He was sick, had been for weeks. Bad luck, I guess. I used your car to get rid of Ethan, and cleaned it up afterwards."

There was a long pause. Instead of breaking down, Scott only sighed. His voice was barely a whisper. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"None of this is making any sense," Vincent said firmly. "It's wild speculation, with more holes than Swiss Cheese. They don't have anything on you."

Scott gave another exhausted chuckle. "I know. They're painting me either as some kind of criminal mastermind, or just a loyal follower to Adrian. Not sure which I like better. All because of a stupid pizza restaurant. It's nuts, isn't it?"

"Listen, I'll come over as fast as I can, okay?"

"No." There was nothing harsh about the word, but Vincent jumped anyway. "Better not."

"Why not?"

 _Your pitiful boyfriend is just a lure, moron. If you turn up, they'll keep poking at him until you confess._

"I think... he didn't say it, but... he might think we're... you know. I don't want to say it influenced their judgment, but..."

"It did," Vincent finished. Puzzle pieces he hadn't know existed fell into place. This was getting more ridiculous with every second.

"I- I have to hang up. I'm sure this will resolve itself." The tremor contorting the words took most of his credibility. "Just, do me a favor, ask Jenna to check on Molly, okay? She left earlier, and she didn't look so good. Jen might be the only one her parents will let through. Sorry for ruining your date."

The connection was cut and fell back into the constant ring of an open line. Vincent lowered the speaker and stared at it. His date with Jenna. Sure.

"What's going on?", Pamela asked him. Her slim, withered hands clenched a handkerchief against her chest. "Why would they interrogate poor Scott?"  
"They're making a big mistake," Vincent heard himself say. Jenna had to be on her way to Freddy's already. He had to hurry if he wanted to be on time. "I have to go." He didn't give Pamela a chance to hold him up even more, but stormed across the corridor and back into his flat, the door slamming shut. He got dressed in less than two minutes. He paused, just for a second, and stared at the flowers he had bought for Jenna. It had taken him an eternity to pick the perfect bouquet, but bringing them now was out of the question.

Vincent groped for the car keys on the shelf, and met nothing. Right, Scott had taken the car when they asked him in for questioning. Damn it all to hell! He leaped down the stair and out on the street. His shape was less than favorable, but he kept running, despite his hammering heart and the feeling of being dripping wet as if he had ran through a thunderstorm.

Freddy's was just far enough to be out of reach for a nice walk in the morning and evening. He hadn't even managed half the distance when his body reported running was out of the question from now on. Panting and with every muscle burning, Vincent forced himself to walk on as fast as he managed. He didn't have a watch to check, but he had to be late by now.

When he turned into the former industrial street Freddy's was located at, he realized he had worried for no reason. Jenna wouldn't be impatient. And she wasn't alone.

A large crowd had gathered in front of the building, their anxious chatter filling the searing air.

Since the closure none of them had entered Freddy's again. Fazbear Entertainment surely had plans for this building, but if so not even Scott knew of it. God only knew how Molly had managed to get inside, much more climb the roof. Her balance wavered precariously on the only accesible ledge of the building.

Vincent stopped. Jenna was standing right in front of the entrance, staring upwards despite the bright sun. Danny was right beside her, and none of them seemed inclined to move.

He couldn't know it was really Molly, of course. Against the sun, she was barely a shadowy figure, but he doubted anyone else would be so stupid to try and kill herself by jumping off a thirty-foot building.

People were whispering, some were shouting discouraging phrases, but nothing of it would reach her up there.

He didn't have time to stand around and gape. So he made his decision and ran to Jenna. People glared at him as he pushed his way trough the front. The only one who didn't move was Danny. He just kept staring upwards. He had the same blue eyes as his sister, only now visible when his hair didn't throw shadows over them.

Jenna winced and spun when he came to an abrupt halt beside her. Vincent didn't give her time to speak. "Do you have a hair pin? Two, maybe?"

She stared at him. "What?"

"You heard me. It's important."

It only took her a second before a kind of remote determination flooded her features. She didn't ask, but pulled two thin clips from her carefully placed bun. No fancy decoration, just functional pieces of metal. Perfect.

"Thanks. Keep Molly occupied."

He didn't wait for an answer and sprinted around the building. The back door was veiled in shadows. While he waited for his eyes to focus, he prepared the two pins, bending them in the shape he would need. It had been a while since he had done this, and never under a time limit.

He took a deep breath and steadied his hands. He was an engineer, not a lockpick, but it was always useful to have such a skill. One after the other, he slid the bolts upwards, keeping the tension with the second hair pin. Time stopped existing, until the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Vincent let out a triumphant hiss, and stashed the tools in his pocket. The kitchen was lit by an window in the ceiling, and the afternoon sun shone on the metal surfaces. However Molly had gotten on the roof, the way wasn't in here.

He thought he knew the back stage very well by now, so he didn't bother checking it. The stage was bare and had been stripped of the curtains that usually tried to mask the desolate shape of the wooden floor boards. He looked around the deserted rooms. Empty as they were, he had felt as though it was his territory, but the blinding lights took that from him. The air was stuffy and smelled of mold. He could try to reach the windows in the ceiling, but there had to be an easier way. If a twig-thin girl like Molly managed to get up there, he should as well. Was there a fire escape, maybe? He hadn't noticed one on the outside of the building.

The solution was easier than expected. When he rushed through the Show Room just to be sure, the doors to the Entrance swayed a little in the current of air he left. Vincent came to such an abrupt halt that he almost lost his balance. Once he came closer to the front doors, the voices outside became audible, just louder than a gentle murmuring. He wasn't too late yet.

 _Why do you even bother? You're the one that killed her beloved baby brother, remember?_

"No," Vincent said firmly. "That was you." The door to Kid's Cove was open.

Of course! The front room's ceiling was only half the height of the rest of the building, and the only part of the roof that was accessible at all. Damn it, he should have thought of that sooner instead of standing around like an idiot.

 _You can't blame an ape for his inability to solve algebra._

"Shut up." Molly had managed to get a ladder, he didn't care from where, that now stood in the middle of the room like a statue. Vincent had his foot already on the second rung, when he heard a creaking sound. A light blinked from the shadows.

Vincent froze. He knew he didn't have time for this, but he couldn't go up there without knowing either. So he stayed, one foot suspended in mid-air.

He almost slipped when the room filled with deafening static. He jumped up another rung or two, his hands almost missing. He tightened his grip around the rungs and searched for the source of the noise. For just one second, his mind became a panicked blank, until he got a grip on himself.

It was hard to see with the light, even indirectly, shining in his eyes, but there it was. Vincent clenched his jaw and didn't move.

The Mangle had risen up on the maltreated and oddly angled parts that its limbs had become, thanks to the dozens of tearing, curious hand of destructive children. One of its eyes was still missing, the counterpart fixed to the bare plate that was part of another head, without any of the new fancy plastic costume. They were staring right at him, with a malice that could almost be human. It's long snout was opened, all ridiculous pink paint and very sharp teeth, while the broken voice box emitted its nerve-wrecking, mechanical gibberish.

 _Looks like they found successors._

Vincent ground his teeth, just to keep his thoughts from drifting off into a panic again.

"I don't have time to deal with you now."

He ascended the rest of the ladder. It reached almost all the way up to the ceiling and he could easily poke his head out of the hatch. Something clanged and rumbled below, and something told him the Mangle had just carried its garbled body directly under his feet.

Vincent pushed his weight over the edge of the hatch and found himself right behind Molly.

She was wearing the kind of conservative clothes that always seemed like a mask again, knee-long shorts, a long-sleeved t-shirt despite the heat and sneakers. She had her arms spread out like she wanted to fly, but her trembling legs took all confidence from the pose. She was wobbling precariously on the four-inch ledge that lined the building.

Vincent thought to recognize Danny's voice in the shouts, but the wind carried the words away. Now wasn't the time to be sensitive. He took a step forward, and another one, trying to keep as quiet as he possibly could. Molly could hardly weigh more than a hundred pounds, he would simply grab her and pull her away from the ledge.

He was almost close enough. He needed to be able to lay an arm around her waist. He couldn't have her slip from his grip at the last second.

Molly whipped around, almost losing her balance, her tiny feet dancing on the three-inch wide ledge.

"Stay away!" She wanted to yell, but all that came out was a shrill whisper. There were little stains on her light blue sleeves. Vincent had seen enough blood to recognize the traces it left on fabric of any color. "I'll jump!"

"If you wanted to, you would have in the time it took me to get up here."

Molly stared at him. She was wearing barely any make up, save for mascara that had now left dark streams down her cheeks. "Why are you here?", she whispered.

"To keep you from doing something stupid."

"You have no idea!" A shudder ran over her, and she wavered again. She was too far away. If she fell, he wouldn't be fast enough. "Ethan is gone. He's dead. And it's my fault. I don't know why, and how, but if I had been a better sister... And Pete is dead too, b-because of me."

"Why would you think that?" His voice shouldn't be this calm. It should be calming, or comforting, not this cold and rational.

"The detective told me."

"Donovan?"

"N-No, the other one. What does it even matter?" Her voice rose to a high-pitched wail. "Pete did this because of me. B-because he wanted to impress me. I should have told him I didn't like him the way he... he should have seen it!"

She rubbed her face furiously, smearing black all over it. Vincent took the chance and stepped closer.

"Stay back!", she ordered, but her voice was less demanding now.

"Did you really?" The dark voice was calm and factual. "Because you're clever enough to know that Danny will never be yours. He's too old for you, and even if he liked you back, he wouldn't dare to make a move. It was just a crush, nothing real. Pete on the other hand..."

Her feet shifted on the ledge, and she wavered for a moment, her weight leaning backwards. Vincent was just about to leap forward and grab her when she regained her balance. "What does it even matter? Pete is dead. My brother is gone, abducted by some random stranger, probably dumped in the woods after... after..." She broke off, furiously rubbing her forearms. The dark spots on the fabrics spread as she did so, more tiny dots appearing and joining under her bitten-down fingernails.

"It's my fault. I only bring bad luck to everyone."

 _Sounds familiar?_

"Nobody needs me, they won't even miss me. When I'm gone, they're free."

"That is the biggest pile of bullshit I've ever heard." Molly froze, her eyes wide. He hadn't expected to shout quite like that. She didn't move, even when he took another step forward.

"Tell you something, kid. I'm from Michigan, you know? And be fore me and Scott came here, I had a girlfriend, Angelica. You know what she did to 'set us free'? Slit her wrists and waited for Scott and me to find her." He paused to draw a breath, and suddenly didn't know where he had been going with this. Why did he tell her about Angie? It wasn't going to help her in any way.

"I-I'm sorry," Molly stuttered. "I didn't know." She wiped her face. "C-Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," he said.

"Was Ethan at Freddy's when Pete died? The detectives said there was blood that wasn't Pete's. They think I was with him."

"And?" Vincent wiped his forehead. The heat was making him dizzy, and his throat was dry.

"Ethan and I have the same blood type. He was there."

 _Push her._

Vincent felt the hair in his neck rise up. "What?"

 _She figured it out. If she survives, she's going to tell Donovan._

Molly stared at him with her green eyes wide.

"Jumping down there won't kill you anyway." Vincent clenched his fists. He needed to stay in control. He wouldn't be used by the dark voice again. "You'll break a few bones, if you're unlucky. The others have probably got a life-net down there already."

Molly tried to turn, but her balance wavered and she flailed wildly to steady herself before she could get a look. "Nobody will miss me." Defiance crept in her words, and if she could have without losing her balance, she might have crossed her arms.

"I always wondered if Angie thought the same. Otherwise she wouldn't have made our existence a living hell, I guess."

"Tell me what happened."

"Pete was in the suit, and it broke down. Ethan cut himself on the spring locks when he tried to help. I went to get a first-aid-kit and when I came back, he was gone."

"You didn't tell the police."

"No. A grown man and a little boy, alone in an empty restaurant. What does that sound like to you?"

Her expression wavered and he realized he didn't know Molly all that well after all. After the closure of Freddy's he had rarely seen her, and in that one week they had barely exchanged a dozen words. All he knew about her was from the tales of his friends. "You wouldn't do that."

"Scott wouldn't." He had spoken the words before he realized what they meant. He might as well have given a confession. But Molly only nodded. She looked down the front of the building, as if unsure if she would go through with her plan after all.

Vincent lunged forward. He outweighed her by at least fifty pounds, and Molly wasn't expecting anything. Her feet left the ledge.

 _There we go_ , the dark voice purred, even as the action happened.

"Like hell." Molly shrieked in pain as his hand closed around her wrist and the momentum of the fall carried her into the side of the building. The sudden weight dragged Vincent forward, and he was almost carried over the edge himself. His knee caught on the ledge with a painful crack and suddenly, they were still. Molly was whimpering hysterically, even as people were shouting on the ground, and groped for anything to hold on to.

Skinny as she was, the weight seemed to pull his arm from its socket. Vincent ground his teeth, and used his free hand to push against the ledge. The long sleeves of Molly's shirt began to slide upwards and his sweaty fingers could barely get a decent grip. He couldn't hold her much longer.

 _Let go._

"Forget about it!", Vincent rasped. He let out a yell and put all his strength in one giant pull. The girl was catapulted upwards for about three feet, before falling heavily over the ledge, her feet still kicking the air in a panicked frenzy. Vincent could barely feel his arms anymore, but he grabbed her waist and pulled her back on the roof, where they both collapsed. Molly stared at him, her eyes completely blank in fear, before she rolled into a ball and sobbed into her hands. Vincent somehow managed to roll on his back, gasping for breath. It was so hot up here. He needed to get away, and fast.

"Shut it," he mumbled. Whatever the dark voice wanted to say, it was irrelevant. He had done it. He had saved the life of this girl.

 _For how long? She'll try again._

"No she won't."

"Who are you talking to, Mr. Vincent?"

He could only do so much as turn his head towards the voice. Molly looked at him, her eyes bloodshot and lined with angry red circles, but her gaze had focused.

"Nobody," he said after a moment. "Just myself."

"Does that self say bad things about you? Mine does."

"Don't listen. They're always wrong." He heaved himself into a sitting position. His muscles felt like they had been ripped in half, but he had to move. Small steps.

How was he supposed to get Molly out if that damned Mangle was still down there?

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The girl shuddered and buried her head in her arms. Vincent shrugged. Maybe he should say something, but if so, he didn't know what. He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer whatever comfort he had. He didn't need the dark voice to tell him what a hypocrite he was. He was the one who should be in control, not that...

monster.

He was almost knocked on his back like a bug when Molly flung herself into his arms. She kept mumbling "I'm sorry" over and over while she sobbed. Vincent put his arms around her in an awkward position. It was so hot up here.

"Don't be silly," he said, with a sharper edge than he had intended. "Just promise me you won't do this again."

Molly didn't answer, but her fingers dug into his shirt so hard her nails scratched his skin.

"Let's go before we get heatstroke up here."

Molly rose in a painfully slow movement, but Vincent stayed where he was. His head was swimming. This was far too similar to the night Adrian tried to kill him. Move it, he told himself.

A hand appeared in his rapidly narrowing vision. Molly had rolled up her sleeves. The cuts on her pale skin had reopened, but there was a shaky determination in her features that visibly settled while he looked up at her.

"You're right. Let's go."

"Molly!" Danny almost carried them both over the edge when he swept Molly off her feet and clutched her to himself.

"W-What-" She didn't try to break free or even squirm, her eyes wide open in shock. Danny was crying and his words were muffled against her neck.

"Never do that again. Promise me, oh God, Molly, what were you thinking, I was so scared, you can't do that to us."

"Danny..." She squeezed her eyes shut and returned the hug.

"Don't leave me okay? No matter what, you can talk to me about it."

Another hand came into focus, strong and tanned and elegant Vincent somehow managed to raise his head. Jenna smiled at him, but he could barely hear what she said. But he managed to put his hand into hers and let her pull him to his feet The movement made his head spin and he staggered. Good thing he hadn't eaten in a while, or else he felt like he might have thrown up. Jenna put an arm around his waist and led him to the hatch. He didn't remember how, but a few seconds later, his feet touched the floor inside Kid's Cove.

The moment the sun stopped beating down on his head, some of the nausea disappeared and the tunnel his vision had become began to expand. The Mangle had retreated again, now only a lump of robotic pieces in the furthest corner.

Vincent let Jenna lead him along, where ever she thought was right. On the way, she grabbed a chair, carrying it along as if she didn't feel the weight. They stopped, and she had him sit down. Then what felt like a whole bucket of water emptied over his head. Vincent flinched under the sudden weight, but after a moment, a wave of relief rushed through him. The water was lukewarm and stale from being in the pipes for a while, but it killed the fever-like burning sensation in his brain. His eyes finally went back to functioning what would be normal for him, if not for others.

His arms felt like filled with jelly, but he managed to wipe the soaked violet strands out of his eyes. Jenna put down the now empty bucket and scrutinized him, hands on her hips. The line between her eyebrows smoothed and her smile turned from tense to relieved.

"Sorry, but I was worried you would pass out. You don't take heat well, I guess."

"Not really," he mumbled. Jenna filled a glass she might as well have conjured up out of thin air, and he took it. The first sips were heaven, the next even better.

"Thanks." He looked down on himself. His neat outfit was soaked and streaked with dust from the roof. "I guess so much for our dinner."

Jenna blinked at him, then she burst out laughing. "My God, Vincent, you're a piece of work." She ran her hand through his hair, and suddenly she kissed him, right on the lips. Vincent froze, his eyes wide. Jenna stepped back, equally shocked.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. They just looked at each other. Then Vincent said: "Want to go out another day?"

Jenna blushed. "I'd love to."

"Great." He managed to get up, his feet sliding dangerously on the wet floor. Jenna grabbed his arm. "I guess I gotta clean that up at some point."

"Until we get back to that it's already dried. Where are Danny and Molly?"

"In the Show Room I guess. Somebody wanted to call an ambulance, but I doubt Molly will go with them. I have to look at those cuts."

"What about her parents?" He slid his hand into Jenna's when they walked down the Main Hall. Jenna shot him a brief glance, but it was impossible to tell if she was just surprised or uncomfortable. She didn't pull her hand back.

Molly had curled into a ball in Danny's lap. He hadn't even managed to get himself a chair, He just sat on the chessboard floor, cradling the crying girl, stroking her hair and cooing over her like a loving mother. He flinched when he heard their steps, and fell silent.

"Oh. Hey." He managed a tired smile. "Molly, dear, can you sit up?" He steadied her as she did so. If anyone else would have asked, Vincent was sure Molly wouldn't have budged. Maybe she wasn't so wrong after all. Danny was too clever to get himself into such a mess, but who could really help his feelings?

"Please don't tell my parents," she mumbled. Danny held her the whole time while Jenna inspected the cuts on her arms and got a first-aid-kit from the now unconcealed backstage. Molly flinched when the disinfectant touched her skin, but just turned her head away and pressed herself tighter against Danny.

"Somebody will eventually," Danny said. "There were a lot of people out there."

"They'll never let me go out again."

Jenna frowned, but none of the adults responded. They all thought the same: If the Jenssens really cared about their kids, why had they sent them to Freddy's every day, and why hadn't they been the one to report Ethan missing, or noticed Molly's mental state?

"I know it's never gonna be," Molly mumbled. "Mr. Vincent is right. But I'm still glad you're here."

Danny's freckled cheeks turned a telling shade of red that didn't need any explanation.

"Good to know you understand," he murmured.

Jenna wrapped clean bandages around the girl's far too thin arms and secured them with a knot. "Okay, all done."

"Thank you, Jenna."

Jenna nodded and stood up. "Shall I get you a chair? It's probably better not to get out right now."

She did so without waiting for an answer. Molly stood up, but settled back in Danny's lap once he was seated.

"There's probably tons of media out there," Vincent thought aloud. "Once they heard it's about Freddy's again, they'll come running."

Molly kept her eyes fixed to the floor. "What are we going to do now?"

"Well, Vincent sure as hell won't go anywhere in this heat," Jenna said.

Molly sagged even more. "I got you into danger. I'm so sorry.."

Vincent rubbed his face. His hair was already drying and it caused a vague tickling sensation on his skin. "The only one you should worry about now is yourself."

"Odd decision to move to the Sunshine State if you can't take the sun," Danny said. Vincent raised his head to look at him and couldn't help laughing. He straightened up and leaned back to stretch his aching back. Things were looking up.

"I guess. So far, I always worked in whatever supermarket needed help in the summer months. You know, cooling counters and all that."

"Speaking of which, how did you get in?", Molly suddenly asked. "I'm sure I locked the back door after me."

"Oh right." Vincent rummaged his pocket and pulled out the bent hair pins. He offered them to Jenna. "Sorry about that. I'll get you new ones."

Jenna blinked at them. "You can pick locks." It wasn't a question.

"I'm an engineer. If it's a simple bolt lock, that's something you can learn in a day or two."

"That's pretty cool," Danny said. He received a glare from his sister. Molly smiled. She was pale, and tired, and messed up, but she was smiling and this time it was genuine.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." She squirmed a little and Danny eased his grip. She ran a shaky hand through her chaotic hair. It froze halfway through.

"What about Scott?"  
"Scott? What about him?", Jenna asked.

Vincent stared at Molly. Scott. He had completely forgotten about that. "Crap! Molly, you didn't hear that."

"I'm not a kid anymore." Her voice lacked any defiance. "Oh no, poor Scott..."

"Wait, what's going on?", Danny interrupted.

Vincent summarized what had happened before he had come here. The faces of his friends went from shock over disbelief to anger and worry.

"You mean they targeted him because Scott is into men?", Molly asked. The words were followed by a crushing silence. Vincent didn't move, but something inside him cringed. It was overdue that someone said it, but hearing it out loud was a strange feeling.

"What?" Danny didn't even put any intonation in the word, he was far too flustered. Jenna shrugged. "I take your silence as a confirmation, Vincent. I had my suspicions, but... I can't believe they'd do that... Detective Donovan was such a friendly man."

"You'd be surprised," Vincent mumbled.

"Uh, so you and Scott..." Danny shut up when both Molly and Jenna glared at him. "Sorry, just asking."

Vincent stared at the ceiling and started to laugh. "This is nuts. It's just nuts. And no, Scott and I are not... whatever." He closed his eyes, not changing his position. "What do we do?"

No answer.

Vincent hadn't expected one. What did the police have on Scott? To them, the tale that Scott had told made an awful lot of sense, even though it was as far from the truth as could be.

"Scott would never harm anyone. Never."

"We know that. Everybody who ever met Scott would know."

The door to the kitchen slammed open. "There you guys are! Holy crap, sorry I'm so late." William rushed into the Room, in a sleeveless shirt and shorts, his red hair still wet. "Freddy's was on the news. Christ, Molly, are you okay?"

He hunkered down in front of her, so she couldn't avoid his gaze. Molly nodded and squeezed his hand once. William hesitated, then stood up again.

"Thank God. Oh, and good news, they have a suspect for, uh... Ethan's case."

"Yeah, it's Scott."

William stared at them. "What?!"

Vincent felt obliged to repeat what they had already discussed, including his suspicions. William frowned. "What kinda bullshit is that? I hadn't thought Donovan was such a bastard."

"Can we leave?", Molly asked. "I mean, are there any journalists outside?"

"Out front, I think. It was a mess getting here unnoticed but I figured the back door would be open. My car is down the street, so if we make it there, we should be in the clear. Molly, what about your parents?"

Molly just pressed her lips together and shook her head. William shrugged. "Fine then. What are we going to do?"

"We gotta check on Scott, for one thing," Danny decided. "Considering the cops are obviously judgmental asshats, sorry Molly, Jen, you do that. Vincent, are you good to go? I'll drop you off at your place, you can't go around looking like this. We'll meet somewhere else later."

"Can you come with me?", Molly asked. "My parents are on a business trip."

"Wait, your parents left even after Ethan disappeared?"

"They have been gone for two weeks now. I tried to call them, but... but.." Her lips began to quiver again and she buried her head in Danny's shoulder.

"I can't believe that," William mumbled. "I. Can't. Believe. That." He turned abruptly and rummaged his pockets for his car keys. "Let's move it."

"You okay?", Jenna asked Vincent. He was startled out of his vaguely dark thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm okay." In a mumble, he repeated: "I'm fine."

"Will, what about you?"

"You know what, I'll drop off Jenna and Vincent. You go with Molly."

Nobody objected the plan. It was surprisingly easy to slip out the back door, lock it, and then reach the cars. Danny had parked down the street, and Vincent looked after them for a second while they walked away.

"That's the most mature thing Danny ever did," Jenna said suddenly. William sighed. "Who would have guessed." His car was parked just around the corner. Nobody paid them any attention. Some tabloids were still waiting for someone, and a patrol car had arrived, but most people had already lost interest. No blood had been spilled, so it was boring.

Vincent directed William to his flat. The sun was finally losing some of its strength, even though the night would be no less suffocating.

"I'll see what I can do at the station and then call you." Jenna said. She didn't specify whether she meant William or Vincent.

"Vincent, I'll pick you up later," William promised.

Vincent nodded and closed the door. Jenna smiled at him and then the car took off. Vincent had barely set a foot into the building when Pamela rushed at him.

"Oh thank God you're home, Scott isn't well at all, but he won't talk to me."

"Scott is home?"

"Oh yes, he came back around an hour ago. But something's not right, I'm really worried."

Vincent shot a glance at the small parking lot. The violet car they shared stood at the end of the lot, under the shadow of a tree.

"Vincent, what in the world is going-" Vincent ignored her and raced up the stairs, taking three with each leap. He didn't even need to grab his keys. The door was ajar.

Vincent hesitated, then pushed it open and closed it again behind himself. "Scott?", he called. His voice came out hesitant and rough.

"Thought it was you."

Vincent took off his shoes before he followed Scott's voice. His friend hated it when people walked around inside the house with shoes on.

Scott was lying on the couch. He had Foxy in his hands, holding him up over his head, as if examining the worn-down plush fox against the white ceiling.

"You saved Molly's life. Congrats. You're a hero."

"She didn't know what she was doing. What about you?"

Scott stroked Foxy's formerly pink, now almost white belly with his thumb and then sat the stuffed animal down on his chest, putting one hand behind his head and the pillow. "Me? I told you it would resolve itself."

 _He betrayed us. The little rat gave us away._

"It's Victor, isn't it? It's always been him. You're twins, after all." Scott smiled without joy. "They let me go, because the media was on it and they had no conclusive evidence whatsoever. They won't dare to get this in front of a court. I'm a free man. For now."

Vincent wanted to say something, anything, really, but Scott didn't let them. "Don't say Thank you. Don't even try to apologize. I got into this by my own choices. I didn't give you away. I never will, you know that, right?"

"Y-yeah."

"Good. How's Molly?"

"How do you even know what happened?" Vincent sat down on the single old-fashioned armchair, something Mrs. Barnes seemed to think necessary. Scott didn't bother to look at him.

"Molly has been unstable since I met her for the first time. Her parents are as neglectful as ours were cruel. The detectives put the thought into her head that Ethan's disappearance is her fault somehow. Some people are just susceptible to this kind of talk, I guess. What did she do?"

"Tried to jump off Fazbear's roof."

"More bad publicity. Grand."

Vincent stared at him. He was good at reading people and Scott was his best friend, the person whose every tic, habit and thought he had known since elementary school. And one thing Scott had never been was heartless or unemotional. The young man on the sofa was like a completely different person. His voice was completely flat, neither happy nor sad.

"I guess."

"We're getting a new supervisor after Freddy's reopens in late October."

"Wait, so we've actually got a date now?"

"Sort of. Third week of October. The new boss will arrive on the first, or so it is planned. Some new guy coming to town from another location in the north. Guess I should have expected as much. "

"So they sent you a letter?"

Scott smiled, his eyes still locked onto the uniform ceiling and still completely blank. "Nah, management called half an hour ago. No idea how they knew I was home. Now that I'm a suspect in a possible murder, they couldn't possibly let me lead this restaurant. But should I get off the hook, I'm welcome to join the crew again."

"Shit, Scott, I'm so sorry."

"Didn't I tell you not to say that?"

"Well what the hell am I supposed to say?!" Vincent fell back into the chair and closed his eyes. "Damn it, I never wanted it to be like that. But what's done is done. If they want to blame you, I won't let them."

"You know what the worst part is?"

Vincent broke off before he could continue his rant. "What?"

"I believe you. I know that some part of you sees me as your friend, and that you don't want to do this and would do anything to help me. But the dark voice won't let you and we both know it. Sometimes I wonder if you're too far gone already and I hate myself for even considering that. You're not a bad person Vince. But you're dangerous. And it's my job to keep you under control."

 _Oh really?_ , the dark voice purred. _We'll see about that._

"How's Molly?", Scott repeated his question.

"She's not badly hurt. Actually, Jen was on her way to the station to check on you."

 _Because you couldn't. How about you ask Scott. Ask him about his feeling for you. I'm sure he'll tell you the truth if you just ask. That is, if you want to know it. But you don't, do you? You just want to live in your self-made oblivion until the day you don't have any other choice than to reject him for good. And we all know where a broken heart can lead, right?_

"I see. Is Danny with the girl?"

"Yes. Not that she would let go of him. We wanted to meet up later to discuss the situation. Now that you're back, I guess all the planning was for nothing." Scott didn't react to the half-hearted joke and smile.

"I suppose you expect me to come with you."

"W-Well, yeah," Vincent said. What was up with Scott? He should at least be happy to see the others, no matter what he thought about his former best friend by now. "Of course. They're worried about you."

"Fine. Good to know you guys are so close now."

Vincent wanted to ask what he meant by that, but didn't. There was a dozen ways to read this statement and he didn't like any of them.

He almost jumped out of the chair when the phone rang. Scott didn't move, so Vincent hurried over and picked up. "Hello?"

"It's William. Is Scott with you? Jenna said they released him already."

"He's here. Are we still gonna meet?"

"Sure. I called Molly. She was in the shower, but Danny said we could meet at her place."

"Okay. Uh... where does she live?"

"I know," Scott interrupted from the background. Vincent didn't turn, but he heard him stand up and pass him by while going to his room. "Half an hour." And with that, the door to his room closed.

"We'll be there in half an hour," Vincent promised.

There was a long pause that made the static of the line painfully audible. "Are you guys okay?" William seemed unsure if he had the right to even ask.

"No. But it's got nothing to do with any of you. See you." Vincent hung up without saying goodbye.

He showered and got fresh clothes and then just sat in the kitchen, waiting. Scott walked past him without looking and took the keys from the sideboard in the hallway. Vincent followed him.

The drive was silent.

Molly lived a little outside town. Once they had crossed an intersection, the battered old Ford Corsair began to look more and more misplaced. The houses were big, and clean and each one guarded by a high fence. William waved at them from the porch of a beautiful two-story house, the wooden panels painted dark red and white. Scott parked the car down the street and they walked up the gravel path to the door.

William's smile faded a little when they came closer, even though he tried his best to hide it.

"Scott, good to see you. Come in."

The inside was as sophisticated as it was expensive. Jenna and Danny waited in the living room, furnished with exquisite settees, a glass table and wood-paneled walls. Thinking of Molly and Ethan, they seemed just as misplaced as the visitors.

"The rest of the house doesn't look like this. It's just to impress guests we never get."

Vincent did a double take. Since he saw her last little more than an hour ago, she had washed off the ridiculous make-up, brushed her hair and dressed in a beautiful yellow summer dress. There were fresh bandages on her arms, but she looked calmer and more comfortable than Vincent had ever seen her. Today, people seemed to have a tendency to make 180 degree turns when you expected it the least.

"I'm glad you're back." Molly hugged Scott. He smiled, and Vincent hoped he didn't imagine the tiny flame of compassion in his friend's eyes.

Jenna and Danny greeted them with obvious relief. Eventually, they settled down on the small sofas placed around the fragile-looking table. Molly stayed close to Danny, and William waved Scott at his side. So Vincent had, to his completely inappropriate joy, no other choice but to sit down next to Jenna.

They exchanged the latest news and also watched the tiny report on the incident at Freddy's. None of the journalists knew who the girl was, or who had saved her. Nobody had been hurt, and the press had lost interest almost the moment the dramatic rescue was over.

"You're a hero, Vince," William said. "I can call you that, right? Heck, where would we be without our Margaret Jenssen?"

Molly's eyes flashed at him. "Don't call me that!"

The statement caused a surge of laughter. Vincent cringed inside the whole time while William insisted on a toast on the great savior and Scott's safe return to their stronghold. Scott didn't say anything, but his lifeless gaze didn't change the whole evening.

They stayed until midnight. Molly was open, and friendly, and and laughed a lot, and was still too unstable to be left alone. Since the presence of a single older man would seem weird to anyone coming home, Jenna agreed to stay instead.

So they left. Vincent saw the worried glances, but chose to ignore them. They got into the car and drove home. Neither Scott nor Vincent tried to speak to the other. And that was how it went for quite a long time.

Days went by. Then weeks. Donovan turned up from time to time, and left, and nothing happened. Vincent never saw his mysterious partner, the so-called bad cop of the duo. The media forgot about Ethan, and Pete, and any other incident at Freddy's. Molly seemed to get better. They met often, even after her parents returned from their business trip.

As time progressed, the Sunshine State finally reached a bearable temperature even during the day. Freddy's reopening came closer, and Vincent was almost glad about it.

 _It can't get much worse._

Vincent had never been more wrong in his life.


	13. Chapter 12

So, folks, here we are in the second half of the fan fiction. The transition was hard and I'm still struggling with writer's block from time to time, but oh well.

Thanks to whoever guest wrote that adorable review, it means a lot to me to get feedback from you guys.

* * *

"There's nothing to worry about." The words sounded hollow and insincere even in his own ears. Vincent shrugged and ran a hand through his ponytail again, trying to smooth it. Danny stared at the ceiling, arms crossed in front of his chest. Jenna gave him a smile.

"You're probably right. A shame that Scott didn't become the manager though."

 _Because he was the suspect in the case of a missing boy. A case that isn't closed yet but without any more clues can't continue._

Vincent tugged at his shirt and ignored the dark voice. One thing the remodeling had accomplished was getting them uniforms that actually fit. That was something, at least.

Otherwise, Freddy's looked remarkably unchanged after the month-long closure. Vincent hadn't managed to see every room yet, but the Show Room hadn't changed at all. The curtains on the stage had been replaced, and in Kid's Cove the stage had been demolished, leaving only a bare room with a semi-clean looking chessboard floor. Everything else was in place.

Jenna and Danny seemed to have similar thoughts. "So what was that ages-long closure for? I don't see much change," Danny mumbled. He stretched and his back gave an audible crack.

"It looks cleaner," Jenna said, almost apologetically. "And there are the new animatronics."

"Right." Danny stopped staring at the ceiling and turned his head to the stage instead. The new animatronics were lined up neatly, all red cheeks, too bright eyes and shining plastic.

"Well, at least they're not as hideous as the old ones," Jenna said. She shuddered. "How could the kids like these gross giant things? When I was that small everything past six foot scared the hell out of me."

"Everything scared you," Danny teased her. Jenna snorted and slapped his legs. Danny made a show of flinching and fell back in his far too small chair. It tilted over the edge. For a moment, he was suspended in mid-air, before the backrest came to a harsh stop on the table behind him.

"Did you see that other new robot?"

Vincent snapped out of his half-daze. He hadn't slept well this night. Maybe he should change his sleep schedule before he started the night shifts.

"What?", he asked.

Jenna pointed at the corner left of the doors to the entrance hall. "You can't see it right now, the carousel is in the way. Some little boy with a striped shirt and cap. The sign says balloons, so I guess that replaces the old stand."

"I see." Another animatronic. He hadn't heard anything about disturbances the last months, but that didn't mean anything. Whoever had worked here had left before midnight. And the animatronics' attacks had never been random. They were after him. "Do you know what happened to the old ones?"

"Scott said they're in the storage room. I think he wanted to get rid of them completely, but management said they were expensive, so we can use them for parts."

"Expensive when? 1960?", Danny mumbled.

"Vincent, are you okay?" He jumped, but it was only Jenna's hand on his shoulder.

"Y-Yes. I'm fine. Just tired. Sorry."

She smiled. "It's alright. We're not even doing much tonight, just meeting the new manager and getting used to the new stuff. Speaking of which, we wanted to make dinner later. Maybe you and Scott want to join?"

 _And yet again is she holding you at arm's length_ , the dark voice purred. _How often has that happened now? A dozen times? Two dozen? How long are you going to play this game when she is clearly begging you to... get more decisive._

"Sure, I'd love to." Vincent smiled at her, trying to shake off the fatigue. "Speaking of which, maybe you and I could -"

The door to the Main Hall slammed open and interrupted Vincent's feeble attempt at getting another date. Some instinctive, angry part of him wanted to shout at Adrian. Why the hell did everybody interrupt him in the most important moments? It just wasn't fair.

"Everybody is here. Good."

Adrian had been dead for weeks. He had gotten what he deserved for luring Pete and Ethan into a trap, for trying to ruin all their lives.

The new manager was only average height and build, with a business-like cut to his salt-and-pepper hair. He was wearing a suit, dark enough to be black, even though it was violet. Unremarkable dark eyes scanned the three people sitting in the Show Room.

He had a sharp and unpleasant voice. "Mr. McCormick, I assume? I doubt the chairs are made of this kind of... pressure. Also, usually people stand up when they meet their superior."

The front legs of Danny's chair thumped to the floor again. He blinked at his sister and then back to the new manager.

"I saw how Freddy's fell into disrepair due to the... [lasch] rules. This will change from now on. You can chat off duty." He took out a list. "Vincent DeBriss, Jenna Mc Cormick, and Daniel McCormick, correct? I'm Ryan Coleman, the new manager. You may call me Mr. Coleman. For today, we will just go over everything once more so you know what to do when we open."

Jenna, Danny and Vincent looked at each other. It wasn't a conscious gesture, they just needed the others to confirm their own confusion. Jenna shrugged her shoulders and they listened while the new manager read off another list he had brought. Nothing of it was new, nothing of it was difficult.

 _Well, this will be fun._

Vincent was just about to drift off into his own thoughts again when he saw the door to the Main Hall move. He tensed in an instinctual fit of panic. The sun was going down, but the animatronics had never stirred before midnight.

But there were no heavy footsteps, no creaking of mechanics. Instead, a dark-haired boy of Ethan's height and age poked his head in. He was pale, and had been crying recently.

"Questions?" The new manager stared at Vincent as if he knew he had been daydreaming.

"Dad?", the boy asked.

Coleman spun, as if startled. One would have guessed the sight of his son would make him smile. Instead, he frowned. "Why have you been crying?"

"Ron locked me up and... and Foxy tried to... he tried to grab me..."

"Leonard," Coleman interrupted. "You know exactly I don't want to hear such nonsense. Where is your brother? Ronald!"

The child flinched miserably under the glare and hugged his arms around his thin chest. The door opened again and an older boy, maybe eleven or twelve, emerged. He had the same dark hair as his father and brother, but was tall for his age and had the lean strength of an athlete. He was every inch a bully. Vincent had more than enough experience to tell.

"Yes, Dad?"

"I told you to stop picking on your brother."

"I don't. He's just such a whiny baby, he can't even take a joke."

"That's not true!", the child answered. His voice was on the verge of cracking, but he was still trying to hold it together.

Coleman shrugged. "Ronald, leave him alone. And you stop making up stories, mister." He shook a hand at the child..

"Ron took away Fredbear," the boy said in a tiny voice. The older boy rolled his eyes and produced a somewhat ruffled-looking stuffed animal. His little brother wrapped his arms around the golden bear and pressed him to his chest in a protective manner, putting several yards between himself and the older child.

"Ronald, don't do that again or you won't watch any TV for a month," Coleman ordered. Ron spun, a look of disbelief unfolding on his face.

"But Dad-"

"Take your brother home now. Leonard, why don't you go to the park. You'll surely find some new friends here."

The little boy didn't look convinced, but also didn't talk back. He just pressed the toy to his chest and sprinted for the exit. Rolling his eyes, Ron followed him.

Jenna, Vincent and Danny exchanged a glance. This would be such a pest in the future. None of them got their hopes up the children would stay home.

Coleman turned back to them. "I would have wanted a better introduction to my children. Well, now you know everything you need to know, let's get to work." He clapped his hands as if they were disobedient children and stalked through the door to the Main Hall.

For a full minute, the three just looked at each other. "What an asshole," Danny mouthed, barely using his voice. Jenna and Vincent nodded.

"Alright, let's make Freddy's presentable!", Jenna said with forced cheer and got up. "Um, Vince, maybe check out the storage, you're our engineer, Danny and I start in Kid's Cove." She put a question mark at the end.

"Sure." Vincent smiled, just so Jenna would be happy, and got up. Something told him working at Freddy's would become a hell all of itself. He might deserve that, but all the others sure didn't.

 _Still punishing yourself. Lovely._

"Shut it," Vincent muttered under his breath. He entered the Main Hall. Coleman was nowhere to be seen. That was something, at least. But he still had the cameras. Time to get to work. He doubted Coleman had any direct or indirect connection to him and he probably wouldn't try to kill him. Alex' murder was solved, and Ethan... Ethan was gone for good too.

Vincent turned a corner and already had his hand on the doorknob to the storage. His thoughts absent, his eyes wandered down the corridor to the door to the office. Or where the door should have been. Vincent froze and blinked at the rectangle that had replaced the back wall of the corridor. The workers had taken out a large part of the wall and finished off the edges of the gaping hole with metal, marking the top with striped yellow and black tape as a warning to people with too much luck on the growth chart or women in high heels.

No doors to close. That meant literally no protection from one or the other vengeful robot trying to sneak up on him.

Then again, it hadn't helped him much the last time either.

Vincent shook his head an entered the storage. That was still a while to go. All he could do was make sure he was prepared the next time they came after him.

"Let's see what we have," he said. The optimism sounded hollow and insincere even to his own ears. Vincent entered the room and was taken by surprise once more.

The old parts and service room had been barely fifteen feet across, and the one lamp had been only a meek excuse for lighting when it got dark. During renovation, the back wall had been taken out, making room for another area twice the size of the old room. The tiles of the floor and paint broke of abruptly, leaving only cold concrete. The old shelves had been replaced with new, more stable looking ones, and moved to the back of the room, along with the crates he had arranged on his first week and the table.

The small wall half the way through the room was the same as before, blocking most of the view from the door. The camera was the same as well, on the left wall, not trying to be hidden in any way. Only now it didn't get the whole room.

Vincent suppressed a smile, and busied himself with inspecting the room as it was visible for the camera. It was a bit arrogant and pretentious to think so, but if he judged Coleman correctly, the man was too busy with being the important idiot he was to notice the blind spots of his surveillance.

 _You're paranoid._

"That coming from you," Vincent said. "I'm shocked." He smiled and knelt down to examine the animatronics. The next one to the door was Freddy, his eyes and mouth open, microphone in hand.

"Well then," Vincent said. "Not so tough now, huh?"

He half expected Freddy to twitch, just to startle him. Nothing happened, of course. Why would it? If he had interpreted the Mangle's behavior correctly, Alex had found new followers in the toy animatronics. They were smaller, faster, and despite the plastic casing, the endoskeleton would be strong enough to shatter bones.

A twinge of pain bit into his back, right next to the spine. The wound had healed weeks ago, leaving only an ugly gray scar on his pale skin. Vincent grimaced, and sat up a little to relax. It was only his mind playing tricks on him.

"I'm sorry guys, but I have to make sure no one else gets hurt." For the next hour, Vincent disconnected any central wires he could find in the animatronics. Alex could get them to help her, but she sure as hell wouldn't be able to generate enough electricity to power these four giants without their servos connected to anything. So far, so good.

After he was done, he went to wash his hands and then decided to check in on the others. The party rooms were already set and done.

"Ah, Mr. DeBriss," Coleman called from the office. Vincent fought down the urge to roll his eyes and walked down the corridor.

"Knocking is a bit misplaced, is assume?" he joked. Coleman's rat face didn't budge. Oh, the future would be fun. "Also, Sir, it's De Briss. Two syllables."

"Where are you from?"

Vincent blinked at him. "Sorry?"

"Where are you from? That's not an American name."

 _That has got to be a joke._ For what was hopefully the first time, Vincent could only agree with the dark voice. "Michigan... Sir."

Coleman raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "I see. How about I just call you Vincent? Vince?"

"Vincent, Sir." Like hell he would allow that idiot to give him any nickname.

"Fine. The papers say you're an engineer. Good. I expect full involvement in your job, since... well, that seems to be uncommon here."

Vincent joined his hands behind his back before they could do something that got him in trouble. "I don't think I understand what you mean, Sir."

Coleman waved a hand. "Your coworkers. It's good and fun to have friends, but this is business. I will have to keep an eye on everything and you will help me. Especially our criminal friend."

"Scott isn't a criminal," Vincent snapped. "That was all a misunderstanding."

Coleman stared at him. The gears spinning in his head couldn't have been more obvious. "You two are friends, aren't you? You even share a flat."

"It's more cost-effective," Vincent said, as if it was no big deal. Why did everybody get hung up on that? That was ridiculous. Couldn't you just be friends with someone?

 _That's your view, my dear, ignorant self,_ the dark voice purred.

Vincent didn't answer, although he wanted to tell the voice a great many things it should do instead of bothering him. They weren't the same.

"Of course. Well, as things are, he is not under suspicion anymore. Are you sure you don't want to switch to the day shift?"

Scott on the night shift? As an easy target for the animatronics? He was not involved directly, but he _knew._ Alex would sense that.

"No Sir, I'm afraid my patience with kids is too limited for this kind of job."

Coleman bared his teeth. It was close enough to a smile to be recognizable, but not pleasant either. "A man who knows his limits. I respect that. Very well, go check on the others, then you are done here. I look forward to our cooperation."

"Me too, Sir." That might be the biggest lie both of them had told in months. Vincent turned to leave and scanned the room while he walked out. There were two giant vent openings on both sides of the room, none of them closed off with a grid or anything to keep out unpleasant visitors. He had seen the same type of opening in the party rooms. Great. Just great.

Otherwise, few things had changed. The file cabinets hiding the tape recorders had been replaced, and a bit more glitter added to the ceiling to hide the loose tubes and wires, now that customers could actually see the office. It couldn't contain anything important or valuable anymore, that much was certain, not when any little thief could sneak in during business hours. The office didn't even have a security camera.

His job would become so much more stressful.

 _Why don't you just leave? You're an engineer. They're supposed to be a bit odd. Nobody will care._

As if that had worked so far. And even if, he wouldn't leave Scott, or Jenna, or even Danny and Molly. It was the first time in many years he had more than one real friend. That wouldn't happen again.

 _A big city maybe,_ the dark voice continued longingly. _Where nobody will know you, and it's easy to-_

"Shut it," Vincent commanded. The dark voice did. They were probably equally baffled by the authority in Vincent's voice. He flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes and wondered how much different things would have been if he had just not been the one in a thousand, the one interesting clinical case of genes screwing him over in a way out of the ordinary.

"Hi." Vincent jumped at the voice, abruptly cut off from his wandering thoughts. He hadn't noticed entering the Show Room. Scott rose from one of the tables. "There's something you need to see. Jenna and Danny are almost done over in Kid's Cove, let's wait for them."

"Sure," Vincent said, keeping his voice neutral. He had enough time to take in how beaten down Scott looked and to feel the twinge of guilt. That was his fault. Had he controlled the dark voice better, this whole investigation would never have happened, Scott wouldn't have to suffer under everybody's silent judgment, and Molly would still have her brother.

Scott didn't say a word the whole time. The eternity of torture ended after barely five minutes, when Jenna and Danny entered. They were a little out of breath, but smiling.

"Hey Scott, what about the safe room? We wanted to check, but it's locked," Danny asked.

"That's what I wanted to show you." Scott walked past the siblings and motioned them to follow while he fished a single key from his pocket.

Scott led them to the safe room and unlocked the door. "Et voilà."

"Wow," Danny said, a question mark in his voice. The safe room had been cleared of the furniture and repainted in a dry white and gray color scheme.

"Waterproof paint or something like that," Scott said, making a swiping gesture indicating the whole room. "Make a guess."

Jenna scrunched up her nose in disapproval. "Those things are still here?"

Spring Bonnie and Golden Freddy sat side by side, leaned against the wall with their heads hanging. They didn't look any better than in the summer. They had been cleaned and repainted in an effort to make people think the suits were new. The end result was two decrepit and highly dangerous suits in a ridiculous golden color. The only big changes were the long lashes on Spring Bonnie's eyes, making it look a tiny bit more feminine.

"The company producing the suits went bankrupt years ago," Scott said. "They tried to fix them up, but there was an... accident." He snapped his fingers against Spring Bonnie's arm and the suit answered with a cacophony of sharp bangs as the locks shut with bone-crushing force.

Vincent jumped at the sound and his skin grew cold even in the mild temperatures of Florida. He could hear Pete's screams as the suit crushed his frail body, reducing him to little more than a mangled mess of flesh. Golden Freddy was right there, in all his deadly glory. Vincent knelt down beside the suit and wanted to open it, but his hand stopped by itself. His fingertips rested on the synthetic fur. How did they even get all that blood out of the fabric?

Pete had been here. He had avoided thinking of the boy ever since the accident, successfully hiding it behind practical issues, the investigation, the appointments with Jenna and her professor, and his unsuccessful attempts to finally go on a date with her.

Maybe he still was, trapped inside that shadow of his death. Did he feel pain? Could he even feel pain? Vincent had never believed in souls, but things had changed. How else could Alex haunt him, or Pete? Or Ethan. They were all here, ready to hunt him down for his mistakes. A patch of icy air settled on his shoulder and seeped through the fabric of his shirt.

Pete, or rather the shadowy figure of Freddy he had become.

 _Shadow Freddy. Good name._

No.. The dark voice wouldn't get away with turning him into a nameless thing.

 _Well, if he's a person, turn around and talk to him._

His fingers closed around the suit's arm and he could feel the tremors of a springlock snapping shut. He couldn't turn around. What was there to do? The boy was dead, and Vincent had failed, just as he had failed to protect Ethan from the monster inside his head.

"Vincent?" He jumped to his feet, shaking off the hand with a panicked shudder. Danny blinked at him, hands raised in a defensive motion.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." He looked past Vincent at the golden suit and rubbed his arm where the scar was hidden under the shirt sleeve. "I don't get why they didn't scrap that stupid thing after what happened to Pete." He turned around and walked back to his sister. It was easy to read his thoughts: He had been in that suit as well, only a few days before. What happened to Pete was horrifying, but at the end of the day, humans always thought of themselves first. Danny had missed the same fate by a hair's breadth and he knew it.

"Yeah,", Vincent mumbled, although belatedly. Jenna came over and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"What happened to Pete was not your fault."

Vincent gave her a smile that felt almost genuine and laid his hand on hers.

 _That's all you'll get anyway. She's just playing around. Just like you're playing with Scott._

"Thanks," Vincent interrupted the voice, a bit more stern than he had intended to.

"Anyway," Scott chimed in. He leafed through a little booklet he had picked up from a table near the door. Jenna exchanged a glance with Danny, but Vincent would be damned if he understood what it meant. Sometimes he envied those who had siblings that actually understood them.

Scott closed the booklet and failed to look as stern or cold as he would want to. Scott never did, no matter how much he tried.

"The spring suits are supposed to be remodeled and put back into use for special occasions."

"What?!", Danny and Jenna snapped at the same time. Vincent kept quiet. He wasn't exactly surprised. Coleman was a moron, and what did one or two more

 _(deaths)_

injuries mean in business?

"Vincent, you're supposed to fix them up, and if that's not possible, to convert them into regular animatronics." This time, Scott didn't flinch under the hard glares. Just one of the many changes he had been through over just a few months.

"They are normal animatronics already," Vincent said, not bothering to form a question.

"Yes, but the boss claims the suit mode interferes with their normal function. ...Maybe you should give it a good, long check before you decide?"

Coleman won't believe it unless you pretend to have checked it, in other words. He wanted the old duo back in business. Fine, he would get them. But nobody would ever wear these suits again.

"If I have to convert them, I'll need spare parts." The image popping into his head was preposterous, but none the less pleasant.

"You can use the old animatronics. We won't need them anymore."

Vincent nodded, fighting down a wide, triumphant grin. Should those pieces of junk try to get him when they were scrapped. He would have to be careful, or Coleman would grow suspicious, but the rest should be a piece of cake. Of course, he had already disabled their power source, but for some reason that didn't calm him as much as he had hoped.

"That shouldn't be a problem. Could take a while, though."

Scott waved it off. He knew exactly what Vincent was thinking, and Vincent loved him for that. There was nothing better than a friend who knew your worries and helped out whenever possible.

 _Which you can't say for yourself._

"Um, okay then...", Danny said. He looked from Spring Bonnie to Golden Freddy and then at Vincent. "That's... something, I guess. Should we report to the boss now?"

"Just a moment," Scott interrupted. He waved the booklet from before, but didn't look in again. Scott had an incredible talent for memorizing texts bordering on photographic memory. He couldn't even explain how it worked, but he had put that skill to good use. Not that it had brought him very far up until now.

"There are some rules you need to have heard once. You know, company policy, the usual bla bla." Scott went over the basic rules they already knew, just in a more elaborate choice of words, and then listed some new rules "for the better connection with the customer". He was recalling all of that from memory, judging from his fluent, but emotionless speech. He didn't look any of them into the eyes either, just stared into space. Meeting social conventions was not part of the set. There were limits to every talent.

When he had finished the list, Scott paused, his eyes focusing again. "Right, almost forgot." He walked over to the closet on the left wall. They were painted in the same gray as the wall and almost invisible in the diffuse lighting. Scott approached the middle closet and had to rattle the handle to open it. Instead of boxes or maybe folders of papers, the door opened into nothingness.

They stared. Jenna and Danny exchanged a glance and then stared at Scott, whose face showed a sweet and painfully familiar grin.

"This leads to the Show Room. Did you notice the new hallway behind the Prize Corner?" He smiled at their puzzled face. "Thought so. That's the point. Freddy's now officially has a secret passage."

He waved them closer and entered the closet. Vincent was the first to follow. The dark voice was giggling to itself, and he could tell it had plans he wouldn't like. But he had no chance to deal with that now. Now that the temperatures were bearable, he could take an evening walk and sort this out alone. The hallway was done in the same style as the rest of the pizzeria, with checkered tiles and the wall sporting the black, white and red line. There was no decoration, and when Vincent touched the wall, even the line was just paint, still slightly wet. He drew back his hand. The cool wet feeling on his fingers reminded him of...

 _Ethan's and Pete's blood once you had finished cleaning up. When you proved you're not completely useless after all._

...of things he didn't want to remember.

He walked right into Scott and the next moment Danny walked into him, giving a muffled sound of protest. Vincent instinctively caught Scott's arm before he could fall. Scott looked at Vincent for just a second, before he straightened up and took a step back. "Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks!", Danny complained from the floor. His sister helped him to his feet, grinning wide.

"I'd give you a nine, but you'll have to practice that finishing move."

Danny shook his hair out of his face and glared at her. "Thanks, Jenna."

She gave him a sweet smile and patted his shoulder. "Anytime, big brother."

Danny made a point of ignoring her and turned back to Scott. "So what now?"

Scott motioned down the length of the corridor. It had been dim the whole time, the only light coming from a spot somewhere in front of them and the opening to the Safe Room, but Vincent's over-sensitive eyes could make out enough to see the major details.

"Did they seriously move the whole Prize Corner two meters closer to the entrance to build this?", Jenna asked. "And I was wondering what remodeling they were doing. Everything looks the same." She squinted. "I think."

Scott shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea why that would be a priority. The outside wall is built to resemble the old Prize Corner, but this is behind the scenes, so it doesn't matter what it looks like."

He produced a small flashlight and let the beam wander over the floor. A few feet in front of them, the rough plaster ended and was replaced with the familiar tiles and higher quality paint.

"There's a door further ahead so no kids wander in, and it has to be closed at all times. But if not, that's as far as customers should be able to see on very bright days, including a few feet extra to hide the transition."

"They are worried about that stuff but nothing else?", Jenna asked, her voice flat with disapproval. Scott shrugged. "What do I know? Management doesn't know what it looks like here, they just heard of the incidents and thought it would be clever to have a retreat route."

"Incidents? You mean Pete?" Danny shot Vincent a glance, who ignored it. They couldn't hesitate every time to say the boy's name. It wasn't fair.

"No, there were other... problems at a sister location somewhere north. Apparently the company that made the spring suits is not accountable for anything anymore, because the suits are much older than their warranty, so, you can guess."

"Problems," Jenna repeated. It wasn't even a question.

For just a second, Scott shifted on his feet, the familiar insecurity on his features. But the adult returned and he only shrugged his shoulders, as if it didn't concern him at all.

"Similar to our... Pete's death, apparently. Somebody freaked out while in costume, the spring locks went off... he's alive, as far as I know. Dragged himself into an adjacent room and managed to get parts of the costume off. Most locks were rusted shut, so the damage was... limited."

"Good for him," Danny muttered. He rubbed his shoulder again, not quite on the scar, but also not far away. That incident would haunt him for years, Vincent could see it in his face. He was lucky to still have that arm. Or his life.

"So if anything happens, we're supposed to go in here," Vincent summarized. Scott nodded, all professional, no feelings.

"They want to include a happy hour every day where the new animatronics can walk around freely among the customers. Jenna, I'd like you to be security at that time, you're the strongest of us."

Jenna nodded. "Sure... But is that a good idea?"

Vincent snapped out of his thoughts when Scott pushed him out of the way. He barely nudged him, but Vincent knew it had been intentional. Maybe that was better before he went into a panic. Jenna saw him space out often enough. Scott waved them along and they followed the corridor. It turned out to be shorter than expected. There was a tiny window in the outside wall. It didn't help much, though. Most of the light was reflected by frosted glass foil and all it created was a vague pastel glow, even though the sun was just going down.

Scott turned off the flashlight and opened a door that was almost invisible in the shadows. Vincent suppressed a growl when the light from the Show Room hit them, blinding him again. It wasn't that bright anymore, but the darkness was where he could really play out his unwanted condition.

He felt a hand around his wrist and followed, until his eyes had adjusted. Jenna gave him a brief smile and winked. Scott let go of Vincent's arm and turned towards the stage.

 _Played you for a fool again. Who knows, Jenna might just be in on it._

Vincent didn't answer. He had more serious matters to consider. The animatronics would walk around during the day. Well, he wasn't there most of the time, so it shouldn't be a problem... but they could as well attack somebody else.

Alex knew that Scott had at least some knowledge of her fate, and if she knew, Pete and Ethan might as well. Scott would be the most likely target. He couldn't defend himself against them. Vincent was only alive because he had been more lucky than an Irish leprechaun several times in a row. He couldn't rely on that anymore. Scott didn't believe in ghosts, and until he did, it was too late. They weren't alone in her. What about Jenna and Danny, maybe even Molly?

Kids didn't think logically. Pete had to be pissed for getting swept under the rug. And Ethan... there was no telling if he thought his sister had abandoned him along with everyone else.

 _For God's sake, are you really trying to put yourself in-_

Vincent stepped closer to the stage and covered his hissed "Shut up" in a cough. "So... what's up with these new robots? New Foxy didn't make it for very long."

"The security isn't to protect the customers," Scott said wryly. He stopped next to Vincent and looked up at the robots towering over them. They looked like insane, colorful Gods, with their fake smile and red cheeks. No dirty fake fur anymore, just easy-to-clean plastic and paint. The future was here.

"After what happened to the Mangle, management expects us to keep the kids from touching the robots. Mangle will stay where it is, but the others are the new showcase, so they have to be in top shape all the time."

"Well, that will be fun," Danny grumbled.

"Part of the job," Scott said. His cold tone made all of them stop. Danny blinked at him, blue eyes wide. The paralysis held for around ten seconds, before he mumbled: "Well, I guess."

Scott nodded. "Also, the new animatronics have a facial recognition system. Newest technology, you know? They're tied into the police's criminal data bases, so if anyone with a questionable past comes in..." He made a vague gesture indicating what followed next. Vincent wondered if they had to remove him from the scanners when they were set up. Did stuff like that get saved, or was it just for convicts?

There was a long pause. "Wow," Danny said eventually. "That's... good, I guess?"

"Indeed it is."

Scott winced noticeably, as if he was caught doing something suspicious, but he kept a straight face when he turned to Coleman. The new manager looked them over, open disapproval on his face.

"Are you done with getting set up? Everybody knows where things are? You explained the new safe room?"

"Yes, Sir," Scott answered politely.

Coleman listed a bunch of other things, all of them fairly obvious. Vincent was fairly sure only he noticed that Scott was annoyed, or close to crying from frustration. Both reactions were fairly close to each other when it came to Scott. Coleman's tone was that of a teacher with a particularly stupid child in preschool.

"Thank you, Sir, we were just finished with going through all new features," Vincent said when Coleman paused to take a breath. The manager raised an eyebrow at him, but nodded.

"Very well. Then we're done for today. Vincent, you come to the office for a minute. The others can go." He turned on his heels and marched off again. Vincent shrugged and adjusted his ponytail. It didn't do much, but at least it gave him a feeling of having tried.

"Well, I'll see you later, then. Jenna, do you maybe... I don't know, come over? We're making a barbecue."

Scott blinked at him, a tiny frown appearing on his face and then disappearing again. Jenna gave him an apologetic smile that didn't reveal if she had seen through his lie.

"Sorry, but my friend is celebrating her birthday. Sometime else, okay? You two have fun. But hey, Danny can go." She gave her brother a clap on the shoulder. He gave her an incredulous stare.

"Yeah, sure... If that's okay for you."

"Sounds great," Scott said before Vincent could. "Well, I'll go and prepare some stuff then. Do you mind helping a bit?"

"No problem. See you, guys." Scott basically dragged Danny off, who looked mildly startled, but didn't struggle.

 _See, I told you. She's just playing._

Jenna shook her head, this cute frown on her face again as she looked after them. Then she turned back to face Vincent.

"Sometime next week, after your shift? My mum sent me this awesome pancake recipe. You like pancakes, right?"

 _Wait, what?_

"Y-Yeah, I'd love to. But you really don't have to..."

"Well, I'll get some barbecue sometime, right?" She winked and hugged him. "See you on Monday, okay?"

Vincent stayed where he was, even after the doors had fallen shut behind her. Only when Jenna had left, he noticed the buzzing of the cameras. Coleman would surely keep an eye on his employees. The good news was, they had been standing right in the blind spots of all three Show Room cameras. The one in the Prize Corner didn't reach this far, neither did the one near the carousel, and the Show Stage didn't get this angle of the room either. If there were no new installations, that was.

Vincent tried to wipe the silly smile and blush off his face while he walked to the office.

Finally!

All he had to do was surviving and hopefully not look like it had been difficult. Easy, right?

 _Let's hope so._

Coleman was sitting at the desk, flipping through the cameras again with an annoyed scowl on his face. He slammed the panel down when Vincent knocked.

"Thank God. I have no idea how to operate this thing."

Vincent thought that wasn't exactly difficult, but didn't say so. Coleman might as well be bluffing. It didn't matter.

"You wanted to talk to me? Sir," he added after a moment of hesitation. Now he finally knew who Coleman reminded him off: his father. He had his set opinion and it didn't matter what else happened. If people didn't want to do his bidding, he would make them.

"Indeed. You are the night guard around, right? So you have to know this place well. Must be boring, sitting here all night." Coleman showed his teeth. It was probably to indicate that had been a joke. Vincent smiled back, with a noticeable delay.

"I suppose. I didn't work here very long before."

"But you know the staff, much better than I do, at that. So I thought to make you, well, security manager is a little exaggerated. Let's just say you should keep an eye on things."

"I don't see how that's possible. I'm not in during the day, and so far, things have been working out quite well."

Coleman nodded, but the disagreement was written all over his face. Vincent continued. "So far, Scott Goldwyn was in charge of things, but I'd rather... well, he's an accountant, that's one thing, and..."

"May I interrupt, Sir?" Vincent's voice was crisp and perfectly polite, but sharp enough that even the dark voice stopped mocking Scott for a moment.

"Scott has a PhD from the university of Florida. He's not just some accountant. Without his administration, Freddy's would have collapsed months ago, because frankly, management can do what it wants, they're not _here_. They can't see what we see, and how we try to keep this place running against all odds. If there is anyone who knows about this place and how it works, then it's Scott." Vincent paused to clear his throat. He hadn't meant to produce such an outburst. Coleman stared at him, obviously speechless.

"I don't mean to sound hostile, and maybe you will ascribe it to me being friends with the others, but frankly, if you need someone to help you run this place, I'm definitely not the best choice."

 _Good job. If you get fired, you don't need to deal with the kids anymore. Moron._

Coleman leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. "That's the first time I've seen somebody oppose a promotion with such force. Alright. I'm not happy with it, but since you seem to be such a sworn family around..." He left the statement open.

"Not at all. We're just trying to do our job and maintain some mutual respect."

 _You're just making it worse. He won't fire you, but guess what you're getting the others into. Sometimes I think you don't learn at all._

"I see. Scott told you about the spring suits?"

The sudden change of topic left him confused for a moment. "They're supposed to be remodeled and put back in use?"

"Indeed." Coleman pushed a piece of paper over the table for Vincent to read it. It was an article from a local Ohio newspaper, describing how there had been a tragic accident involving an animal costume in a local pizzeria.

"It doesn't say, but they're part of Freddy Fazbear Entertainment. The bosses are getting nervous." Coleman sat up and looked Vincent directly into the eyes. He was the first one that hadn't given Vincent more than the usual once-over people did at their first meeting. He didn't seem the least confused by his employee's unusual appearance.

"Be honest with me. Can the suits still be used?"

"I haven't gotten a good look at them yet," Vincent said, trying to be diplomatic. Scott was right, if he blurted out his rather obvious decision now, he would lose all credibility.

"And you want to tell me you don't already know what you will say? I realize you were here when those... unfortunate events happened. But I want a professional opinion."

"From what I saw of Golden Freddy and Spring Bonnie so far, they should be safe to be used in animatronic mode, although I wouldn't let them walk around. The suit mode on the other hand... I will look into it, if you want."

Coleman stared at him thoughtfully for a while, then he nodded and got up. "Monday, be here at eleven, at the latest. We found somebody for the weekend night shifts, by the way. ….Gordon, I believe. Do you know him?"

Vincent managed to conjure up a foggy picture of a middle-aged man that mostly talked to George Ramirez, the cook, but couldn't remember much more.

"Saw him a few times. I don't think we ever talked."

"Ah. Well, it's not important. You may go now. I will have a meeting with the kitchen staff tomorrow and then the great opening can take place without interruptions." Coleman ushered him out of the office and groped for the keys, until he noticed the lack of a door.

"Sir, may I ask a question?"

 _Sir this, Sir that_ , the dark voice echoed. _Sure, kiss his ass a little bit. Who knows when t come in handy to be friends with the boss._ Vincent couldn't help a cringe of disgust. The dark voice wasn't even being sarcastic. It wanted to hurt him, to make him feel guilty for its own amusement, but the advice was serious.

Coleman waved a hand as he headed for the exit. "Ask away."

"Isn't that a little... unsafe, having the office open like that?"

"There are good reasons for it. The establishment has to be close to the customer. If there's a problem, they come here. All the important documents are stored in the safe room. I'm sure you all noticed that already."

 _He forgot to say "At least that you can do"_ , the dark voice explained patiently.

"I see. Thank you," Vincent replied, directed at Coleman. His voice dwindled after half of the words. Two silver dots stared at him from the darkness. No, that wasn't right, it wasn't that dark in here. They had reached the Show Room and the setting sun tinted the whole room in a beautiful pastel red and orange through the many windows.

The silver dots stared at him from the corner behind the carousel. It was the Freddy silhouette again, black against the gray walls. It stared at him, before turning its head to the new animatronic, the one Jenna had dubbed the Balloon Boy.

It looked at him with Ethan's checkered green eyes. Despite the frozen grin, they couldn't be mistaken for anything but sad.

 _Why are you doing this?_

Vincent jumped, a shiver running over his skin. The dark voice barked out a laugh.

 _I should become an impersonator._

"Vincent?" Coleman stood at the doorway to the entrance hall, tapping his foot.

"Yes, sorry Sir." Vincent hurried to get there and then get out of the building entirely. At least now he knew what had happened to Ethan.

"Don't be late," Coleman repeated. Vincent gave him a nod and walked away from Freddy's. Their job would become so much worse, he knew it already.

And all the time, he could feel two pairs of eyes, watching him, judging, asking.

 _Why?_


End file.
